Ravaged Bonds
by Daedalus370
Summary: Aleph sleeps, ever dreaming of the Golden Sun, and travesties afflict the islands of Palmaria which tear friends and family apart through death and turmoil.  Anxious for answers and thirsting for revenge, a young man seeks out the cause, but perhaps the cause will find him first.
1. Chapter 1:  A Pleasant Reunion

**Author's Note: Hey guys, a name change has occurred, and that means free new author's notes for everyone! What was previously "The Bonds of Fate" will now be called "Ravaged Bonds." If you still remembered the previous name and make yourself known, I'll give you a nice, fat, homemade snickerdoodle.  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the world of, nor the idea of, Golden Sun. The title, as well as a great majority of the Psynergies are not my own, but the characters and this place . . . yeah, those are mine.**

* * *

_**Ravaged Bonds Chapter 1: A Pleasant Reunion  
**_

_Ofttimes it is the past that drives us beyond comprehension, creating the bonds of fate that nothing can sever, even across the seascape of time._

* * *

The morning chapel bell sounded off in its usual dulcet tone, and the sleepy manor started to spark into life after its long rest. The sun may not have been up just yet, but the rosy strands of dawn that flickered on the eastern horizon told that daybreak was imminent.

The girl was not as cheerful as the bell, however, and rolled around her bed, trying her best to avoid the clear, penetrating ring that travelled through the pillow wrapped around her ears and through the linen bedsheets. If there was something she could not stand, it was getting up in the morning. As time progressed, she realised that, like every other day, it was impossible to avoid the chipper noises it made. Groaning a bit, she exited her bed, scooting out from underneath the blankets and landing into the awaiting slippers on the floor near the headboard.

The youth yawned and stretched out her limbs before patting down her maroon silken nightshirt and pants, and walked over to the window to part the curtains more from their half-open state. She smiled as she beheld the glorious sunrise that only happened here in the Isles, the one thing in the world that gave her hope for the rest of the day besides her most trusted companion.

Her smirk continued to go wider as she recalled him and the silly adventures that they had underwent last night. He was not exactly her brother, but he was so similar to one that she erased the border between close friend and sibling altogether. They had been through the thickest of times together, and she cherished their siblinghood more than anything.

The girl shook her head free of thought and traversed the room to the vanity mirror on top of a nearby dresser, simpering and giggling as she witnessed her reflection.

She was not altogether proud, but she did enjoy her appearance, regardless of how tangled and matted her hair was at the moment. She had her mother's raven-black hair that coiled down to the base of her shoulder blades and her father's morose amber eyes and olive skin tone, perhaps the only three qualities that she enjoyed sharing with them. High cheekbones pronounced themselves mildly, a trait that had passed through her mother's side of the family yet passed over her generation, and a thin nose and mouth completed the rest of her features.

Finding everything but her hair in order, she locked the door to her room to doff her nightclothes and take up the outfit she chose for today. Unlike her supposed friends that shared ancestries similar to her own, she did not care for stuck-up outfits and personal baubles. Simple, comfortable clothing were what she preferred rather than the overly flagrant or showy garments. She despised dressing into those restrictive and itchy outfits for the parties that her parents hosted every so often. She felt that she couldn't bear acting as dignified as possible while suitors of noble houses wooed and adults used her as if she were eye candy. She was a free spirit at heart, desirous to be somewhere else and enjoy herself instead of being locked in the gilded cage of decency.

After slipping into one of her favourite soft red dresses, she scooped up her hairbrush that rested at the base of the vanity mirror and sat down on her bedside. She looked all around her room, noting the fact that everything looked like a massive typhoon had struck followed by a sizeable earthquake. She shrugged her shoulders mid-stroke and laughed to herself about the time that her parents stepped in and said that.

"Avvie!" called out a voice from outside her door, followed by an obnoxious pounding on the door. She practically tore her hair out by the roots with her brush as she leapt to her feet in case the speaker came into her room, quite forgetting about the lock. "Wake up, you lout, and get ready for breakfast!"

The young woman breathed a sigh of relief and chuckled to herself as she recognised the voice of her brother. They both called each other the rudest names in the morning for a good laugh.

"I'm up already, moron!" she shouted back, setting the brush aside and rushing to the door to open it. As soon as the handle raised, the door unlocked with a tiny metal click and she opened it to spot him with his hand outstretched to knock the door again.

Her brother was small for his age, only a year younger than she was and with a head an inch below her own. He was fully garbed in his customary clothing, a linen tunic of lesser quality than the ones she wore, but still just as comfortable. Sandy blond hair dangled in front of his eyes and dribbled down the sides of his head, showing that he definitely had not taken care of his bedhead. Soft amber eyes peered out from underneath his thick bangs, and a mischievous smile crossed his face widely.

"Hello, misfit!" he greeted, rapping his knuckles on her forehead as if it were the door itself.

"Ow, hey!" she responded, holding a hand up to where the triple knock was performed and rubbing it in a wounded manner. "That hurt, you know!"

"Pfft, I doubt it did, nerd, but I'm sorry anyways," he responded apologetically, wrapping his arm around her for a moment and hugging her lightly. "But you don't want to be late for breakfast, now do you?"

The small glow of red formed on her cheeks as she giggled, and she shoved him back into the hallway before shutting the door behind them. The warm air that wafted into her nostrils smelled delightful, and she grinned over to her brother before rushing speedily towards one end of the double stairwell.

"Race you down!" she called out over her shoulder, slowing slightly to watch for a reaction.

He didn't bat an eyelash, and she stopped at the summit of the stair arc. They had races every part of the day, and she questioned herself what was so different with him today. Was he really just going to stand there, or was he saying with that she was getting too childish? The thoughts chased each other around her head like dogs with their tails, and she waited for him to do something, anything at all, at the summit of the staircase.

"You coming, Wolfe?" she asked him, giving him the look of the century. "I'll give you a headstart!" she added in a teasing manner, even though she knew he would never buy that.

"I'll catch up," he responded, not budging an inch. She shot a laugh through her nose before descending down the stairs, taking her time as she did.

"My, how arrogant he's gotten all of a sudden," she said to herself under her breath, keeping an eye on him as she descended one of the double staircases. He returned her gaze with that irritating smirk awash over his face, and it took most of her will to prevent herself from rushing down to hasten the moment. She looked back down to her feet, pondered exactly what he was thinking and shrugged after not coming up with any ideas.

The rustling of clothing behind her attracted her attention completely, and she froze in place near the base to watch him in his fruitless attempt to catch up. She gasped and felt the sadistic joy drift away. He was on the handrail between the two floors, both feet planted soundly underneath him and his hands at the sides. He looked down to the small, unlit study below with a quiet, focused gaze.

"W-Wolfe!" she shouted frantically, absolutely terrified of what he was doing. "Get off of there this instant! This isn't funny!"

"Don't worry, Av. I'll be safe," he uttered. A small smile reappeared on his face, but, unlike the first one, it was soft and reassuring.

"W-why? What are you planning t—"

Wolfe left the balcony, coiled in a small ball as he headed down into the gloom with only a foot extended from his frame. The girl screamed his name, wanting to stop him, but her legs were frozen in place. It was impossible to do so even if she willed them into action, however, and a small thud sounded out.

Seconds seemed like millennia of fear, but there he was, on the floor, safe and sound and standing up to glance up at her. A wave of air passed across the entire room like a soft breeze, refreshing her from fainting on the spot.

"I told you I'd be safe," Wolfe replied, much to her disdain.

She left the last few steps and ran over to him across the oaken floor before looking him over carefully. Nothing seemed broken, and there wasn't a single sign of injury whatsoever.

"H-how . . . ?" was the only thing she was able to say as she fumbled for words.

"I'll tell you later," he answered, much to her displeasure. She wanted to demand a response, but she forced a quiet over herself. He smiled wider, knowing that, and continued, "So, I won, right?"

That doomed her patience as she slapped him hard with her right hand. Brother or not, he deserved it.

"Idiot! Do you know how worried I was?" she screamed at him as he held his cheek with a cupped hand.

"I wanted to surprise you," he laughed, albeit with an added grunt to fend off the pain of the slap. He always was the wimpier between the two of them.

"Well, you did!" she spat angrily, giving him a spiteful glare and putting her hands on her hips.

"All right, what's the commotion?"

They both turned their heads to see the girl's father approaching, a well-built man with an angry expression on his ruddy face and sharp, aquiline features. He was dressed up in noble attire, a robe that was sable on one side and a pale grey on the other, and had a mug of steaming liquid in one of his hands that she immediately recognised to be coffee.

He glared at the two of them pitilessly with his stalwart amber eyes, waiting for an explanation from either of them for being so rowdy this morning.

"W-well, you see . . ." she started out, pondering about what to say. If she were to tell the truth, he wouldn't believe her, and if she didn't, it would have to be good. "Er, we were, um, having a race downstairs and, ah—"

"We just were playing, sir," Wolfe joined in, and the girl breathed in a relieved sigh.

"Oh?" queried the father with a sharp raise of an eyebrow.

Wolfe nodded, not changing a tactic.

"I was just teasing her. I took her ribbon, you see."

A low, displeased sigh sounded out from the father, and he shook his head grouchily.

"Well, give it back," the father responded, his eyebrows lowering so that his eyes were shrouded. "You need to grow up. In your late teens, and you both are still acting like kids. I worry about his influence on you, Avdotya."

Without another word, he turned around, took a sip out of his mug, and walked away, leaving the two staring with only their thoughts for company.

"Well, that wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be," Wolfe spoke after a moment of silence. "I don't think he will ever warm up to me."

Avdotya rolled her shoulders and sighed, averting her eyes from the hallway where her father went.

"Sure he will. He just needs more time to get to know you."

"Avvie, it's been six years, and he hardly gives me a second look without a hint of disgust. He even thinks I'm nothing more than a hindrance to you. I just don't get it."

"Just give him time," she smiled, giving him a friendly slug on the shoulder. "He'll warm up to you eventually, and when that day comes, you will be begging to get him off of your shoulders."

"First off, that day'll never happen," he grinned wolfishly, rubbing his shoulder. "Second off, ow."

"Pfft, you're such a weakling," she teased, brushing back a few bangs that had drifted in front of her forehead. "You should try to join a sparring exercise with Dad and me. That'll build some muscle on your bones."

"Me?" he murmured, his eyes widening to the size of golf balls. "You know how bad I am with swords. And, besides, I still haven't told you what happened earlier."

Her ears perked and her head tilted, meaning that she was almost begging for an answer. He looked at her, opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and patted her on the head roughly.

"Just messing with you," Wolfe continued, a smug smirk on his face before he started to walk down to the hallway. "Now come on before the meal gets cold, fool!" he called out over his shoulder.

She glowered at him and stamped her foot, absolutely furious.

"You always do that . . ." she grumbled under her breath, but still she smiled. "One day I'll be able to force it out of you, and when that day happens, you'd better watch what you say! Hey! wait up, moron!" she shouted after him, yet she soon realised that he did the mirror opposite. Her eye twitching angrily, she matched his pace. "Oh-h-h, it's on now!"

* * *

The day came and went in its usual slow pace, and both siblings were under a cloud of boredom from their classes. Being forced to take them under the guiding wing of the private tutor was one thing, but to bear with it was another. The teacher was a moderately pudgy person, with a small and wide nose similar to a pig's, a semi-dirty appearance yet primly kempt hazel comb-over, and a snake's glance that was both spiteful and dreadful. There was no way to get on his good side, and no way to avoid his worst.

Avdotya and Wolfe hated him fiercely. Tutor Rhado was hardly even a good teacher and punished every little thing they did with a chastising lecture. Whenever his back was turned, they joked about his mannerisms and elicited wide grins at the cartoon drawings that they had made on the slate writing slabs that were provided to them. Though he never caught them once red-handed, he knew that they were doing something mischievous and rewarded it with a manual chore.

Once he had left and the final nobility class had ended for Avvie, the two reunited, said their usual farewell to the angry chap, and breathed out a sigh of relief, knowing that the stranglehold on their day was over.

"What kind of rubbish did he fill your head with this time?" Wolfe teased, tossing a light fist into Avdotya's shoulder.

She laughed lightly and returned the favour with more force.

"Some crud about lady mannerisms, sipping tea with one pinky out, and how to suck in when forced to wear a corset."

"Brutal," he grinned, eliciting out a voluntary shudder and making sure she noticed it.

"That's easy for you to say!" she exclaimed, placing her hands on her hips. "You don't have to be spoon-fed this tripe with a straight face! You don't even have to wear a corset!"

"I know that, I know that," Wolfe chuckled, raising his hands in front of him to calm her down. "You should learn to take a joke once in a while, Avvie."

"Whatever," she laughed, loosening her stance and balancing on the balls of her feet. "So what do you want to do today? We could go spook some cattle again in the fields . . . ooh, or we could do a small duel! No need to worry; I'll take it easy on you!" she added with a wink.

"Not to interrupt your gloating," he chuckled as he headed to the door, "but I have other plans for today."

"What?" Avdotya exclaimed again. "You don't mean to say you've got other friends than myself, do you?" she added with a small smile.

"I made plans with Isha today. You remember her, don't you?"

"Oh, the Mars Adept that came back to town a few weeks ago? I never, ever would have thought that you two would've been friends. Say, you're not telling me something, aren't you?" she spoke teasingly, albeit with curiosity as well.

"What? No, of course not," he responded, giving her a small grin. "We were friends before my. . . ." He halted mid-sentence, looking down at the carpet gloomily before he stepped towards his boots, lying next to several others on a mud rag next to the door. "Before my parents died. . . ."

Avvie opened her mouth and closed it again.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry," she apologised, looking down as guilt swept over her. It has always been a touchy subject with him when she asked about his parents, and the pain that crept over his face when they were mentioned was instantly recalled. "I . . . I shouldn't have brou—"

"It's fine," Wolfe replied quickly, setting his feet inside of his shoes. "I promise I'll come back early, yes?"

"Sure," she answered with a false smile, watching him as he opened and closed the portal behind him without a goodbye. "Have fun, Wolfe . . ." she whispered, stepping away and heading back up the staircase.

* * *

"You seem tired . . . is something the matter?"

Wolfe glanced from his blank stare at the horizon and over to his companion.

They each were sitting on one of the large fence posts near the cattle farm that her parents used to own, overlooking the grassy plains that rolled along the land before crashing into a beachscape. The fence was weathered and broken in areas, but since there were no cows in it for years, that was acceptable by their small island community. Cattle-farming was the town's livelihood, as well as growing and exporting tubers and cultured cheeses. The volcanic soil naturally refreshed itself each year with resources, adding to the prosperity of the small community.

Anyone would have thought of his companion as a very comely person, her crimson hair spanning down beyond her neck in long strands and blowing in the island breeze. Elfin features were able to be seen underneath the thick bangs that loomed over her visage, as well as amethyst eyes that were dim with worry. The Dartmouth-green silk tunic she wore matched her nicely, and Wolfe thought he detected the slightest amount of lipstick on her thin lips. She and her family must have been very well-to-do, but he didn't want to be rude and ask about it.

"Nothing is the matter, Isha," he spoke, emitting a small smile at her. "I guess I'm just happy to see that things are like what they used to be."

She smiled in turn and glanced down shyly. That was yet one thing that had not changed since their last encounter so many years back.

"I am happy as well, if only to be back with you, Wolfie," she responded, using his old nickname when they were kids. Wolfe couldn't hold back a laugh as he remembered it and brushed the hair at the back of his head in embarrassment.

"You left so suddenly that I wasn't able to say goodbye seven years hence. What can we do to make them up?" he queried, turning in her direction.

"I don't know. Unlike you and this place, everything else has changed. Nobody recognises my face anymore, but everyone knows my name. It is just so strange to see what a few years would do. . . ."

He nodded and hopped off of the fence post, landing with a soft thud in the grassy soil. She heard this and looked over fearfully.

"A-ah, I hope I didn't bore you into leaving. . . ."

"What? Of course not," he laughed, coming closer to her and leaning against the square-cut fence. "Why don't we visit our old hideaway for old times' sake?" he asked with a smile.

"You remember where it is?" she inquired in turn, the sides of her mouth lifting slightly.

"Of course! I still frequent the place sometimes. So how about it?"

Isha slid off of the post and stepped towards him, a shy smile on her face.

"I'd be glad to, Wolfie," she responded, walking to his side. "I missed the place very much after moving away. Please, lead on."

He couldn't help but smile at her request and stepped towards the road. The rustling of her clothing from behind him told that she was following closely, but every time he attempted to catch sight of her eyes, she turned away to dodge his own. She was hiding something, he knew, but what it was, he had no idea. Even though he burned with curiosity, he stayed silent, and so did she.

Wolfe and Isha stepped through the thicker part of the forest in the northern part of the isle, a small uninhabited place with very few roads and scarce travelers. The roads were unnecessary, as the forest floor was set ablaze often to reduce insect growth and for lumber reasons, but there they were, light ecru streaks heading down into the descending forest. The afternoon sun poured through whatever opening it could find in the dense deciduous canopy, lighting small patches yet withholding from the majority of the forest area. A warm, briny breeze flitted into their faces, and Wolfe allowed himself a smile as he felt it; they were almost there.

"It's just up ahead," he spoke to Isha at his side, pointing up at the clearing up in front of both of them.

She glanced up from her pacing steps to follow his finger and looked her head again. Wolfe wondered what she was thinking about that kept her silent for so long. Every time he tried to make conversation, she responded just enough and dropped the topic by staring at her feet. The entire matter was awkward for him. Childhood friends, and neither were able to make lively conversation.

They stepped into the clearing, a small copse of trees that allowed sunlight to fall on a wide-spreading array of red, bifurcated lilies. The Isle of Palmaria was the only place where they existed, and the sight of them was rare to see for those who never went up into the forest before. Isha could not help but pluck one near her feet, and breathed in the aroma with pleasure. It was sweet and pungent, yet had a bitter scent to it as well.

"If only you had come back sooner," Wolfe spoke up from behind her, a tinge of regret in his tone. "They were in full bloom half a moon ago and were everywhere in the forest, but now they only grow around here."

She laughed as she turned to face him, the flower dropping back into the midst of its live companions.

"Full bloom or not, I love them all the same. It's been so long since I've smelled a dove-tail," she commented, smiling lightly over to him.

Wolfe returned the smile and stared out at the lone, tall figure standing in the centre of the copse. It was an apple tree, a patriarch of its kind on the island that stood sentry over the young plants that surrounded it. It was definitely barren from its old age, as the moss and lichen that encompassed the base of the trunk revealed, but the branches were still as sturdy as they have been in their youth. Leaves covered the furthest branches, whereas its top gradually became barren of any at all.

"Do you remember those days as well as I do, Wolfie?" Isha queried with a blush as she noticed where he was staring off towards.

"Perhaps better," he answered with a chuckle. "C'mon, race you to it."

The two sped through the large flowerbed towards the tree, Wolfe in the lead, of course, because of his unfair advantage and Isha right behind him and matching his pace. He laughed to himself, knowing that he would win for sure, before Isha shot in front of him faster than he had thought possible for her. She tapped the tree first, with his hand following within the second. Both huffed and puffed from the exerted energy, and she was the first to droop onto one of the gnarled "seats" that Granddaddy Apple had provided for them.

"Where'd you . . . learn to run like that . . . ?" gasped Wolfe as he struggled for breath and answers, staring at his childhood companion in disbelief.

"Don't underestimate me, Wolfie," she spoke, catching her breath and grinning. "I'm an Adept after all."

He looked at her as if she grew another eye on her forehead.

"What does that even have to do with anything?" he scoffed lightly, making sure to grin in turn.

She laughed and shrugged.

"Before I was an Adept, I felt powerless, but now that I am one, I can actually do stuff. You remember how frail I was? Well . . . now I think I can beat you at anything and everything," she answered in a faux gloating manner, knowing it would get his pride riled.

"You beat me at everything? Hah! That's laughable!" he exclaimed with a wide-sweeping grin. "Maybe some things, but everything?"

"E-ver-y-thing," she said with crystal clear pronunciation with an afterwards laugh. "I'd love to prove it to you, too."

"And to think that you looked afraid of me," replied in a half-jesting manner. "Whatever happened to the shy you?"

"H-huh? Oh . . ." she uttered, suddenly looking down. Wolfe felt that he should have smacked himself for such a poor choice of words, and was about to speak again, but she raised her head before he could voice anything. "Well . . . I suppose you played a part in that," she smiled, blushing a mild rouge.

He chuckled.

"Well, whatever happened, I like it better," he admitted with a grin, sitting down finally on a root similar to her own.

Another silence was triggered, Isha too embarrassed to speak and Wolfe unable to think of anything to say.

"Uhm . . ." he started off after a minute, laughing hesitantly and turning towards her again, "if it's not too much to ask, where did you go? In fact, why did you go? I thought your family would stay here for as long as they lived."

Isha's head shot in his direction for an instant before she looked away slowly.

"Now that's . . . difficult to explain . . ." she answered in a slight whisper, leaving the sandals on the ground as she brought her legs up to her chest. "It's not something I want to talk about now, either, I'm sorry."

Wolfe tilted his head before nodding hesitantly.

"I see . . ." he responded, looking down into his lap. "It had to do with your mom, didn't it?"

She frowned and scooted up into a ball even further, hugging her legs tightly as she started to cry into them.

"I said I don't want to talk about it. Can't you just leave it alone?" she sobbed.

Wolfe found himself only able to look at her piteously, questioning what he had done to cause her to be like this. Biting down on his lip, he got up partially and sat closer to her.

"Isha, hey, I'm sorry, okay?" he apologised. "I didn't mean anything by it, or even to make you cry. Please just . . . stop crying, okay?"

The red-head glanced up from her knees and towards him before wiping her cheeks back into their dry state.

"I'm sorry . . . I shouldn't be like this. Adepts don't cry, now do they?"

Wolfe shook his head and frowned.

"What kind of nonsense is that? Of course they cry when they feel the urge to, or they wouldn't be human otherwise! I just don't want to see you cry. . . ."

The tears stopped flowing, and Wolfe saw the flicker of a small smile on her lips as she turned to face him.

"Thanks, Wolfie . . ." she uttered softly, placing her hand on his. "You're . . . a good friend."

Wolfe smirked a bittersweet smile and looked away.

"Good friends don't make each other cry. Look, whatever happened earlier . . . I am sorry. I may not know what it was about, but I am sorry. . . ."

"Just forget about it," Isha responded, her hand leaving his own before she pulled him into a loose hug. He returned it lightly, and shortly after she broke away. "Um . . . Wolfe . . ." she voiced weakly, her eyes drifting downwards, "there is something that I. . . ." She trailed off, turning back around to hide a faint blush.

"Something on your mind?" rejoined Wolfe, glancing back over to her with a slight frown. She was starting to recede back into her shy bubble again, but as to why, he had no idea.

"N-nothing . . . I was just thinking that . . . that we should get back. The sun is starting to set, after all."

His eyes drifted off to the western horizon, noticing the small tints of oranges and reds in the sky as the sun passed through the trees. The rays made the trees appear to shine on their own, a marvel to behold as the silhouettes of their shadows passed across the both of them.

"My my, it seems time has slipped by without my knowing," he grinned as he raised himself. "But then again, six years passed in a blink with your absence . . . it was a bore without you being here. I hope that doesn't happen for a long, long time, yes?" he continued, holding out his hand.

She glanced up at him and let out a small, single laugh, happily receiving it and being pulled upright.

"You won't get rid of me that easily," she responded, a smirk building up. "You have my word on that."

"I look forward to putting you to the test then," he teased with an added wink. "Let's get you back; I'm sure that your family is waiting for you."

She laughed hesitantly and patted down the wrinkles of her ruffled tunic.

"It's no problem . . . I can get back by myself. Wolfie . . . thank you. It's been so long that I feared that you had forgotten about me, and you haven't . . . and . . ."

"Isha, you fret too much," he smiled. "We're friends, and friends never forget each other, no matter how long between their meetings."

She giggled and nodded.

"I guess you're right . . . you know, we should make plans again. . . . Now let's get going before darkness closes. I'd hate to see a klutz like you run into a tree in the dark."

"Hey now, don't make me slug you one," he grinned, lifting a formed fist playfully. "Just tell me where you're staying and I'll stop by tomorrow, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, he spontaneously broke out into a full sprint. "Race you down!"

She was about to answer him before silenced, simply standing there in dumbfounderment for a few seconds and biting down on her lip lightly.

"Hey, Wolfe, no fair!" she shouted with her fists balled at her sides. "No fair, no fair! Wolfe, you're going to pay for this!" she yelled out after him, following him through the darkening forest.

* * *

It was neither a short walk nor a long one between the estate and the forest. The landscape was hardly enjoyable at this time of day, but the sky was beyond beautiful to him. The sun had just set behind a curtain of darkness, and the myriad of reds, oranges, and yellows in the horizon just started to fade into anonymity once more. Stars were returning above the mountainous islands to the east, and the moon was nowhere to be found. Wolfe always loved this setting more than any other, but he knew the dangers of it as well. Monsters prowled after dusk even on this remote isle, and, though the risk was slim to none of being attacked, it was still worthy of consideration to avoid going outside at night.

The walkway that led to the front door was lit in its usual manner, luminous crystals on either side of the cobbled path emitting a soft emerald glow. Wolfe walked down it with a small frown and sighed. He never could rid himself of the feeling that he could not break the barrier that separated him from his sister. He was a remnant without any real relatives, and they, his adopted family, were nobility that had it all, even each other.

As soon as he climbed the stairwell that led up to the entrance, he tested the door handle and found it unlocked, much to his relief. It wasn't only the father and Tutor Rhado that hated him in the household, but also the maid. What he did to deserve death threats from the otherwise harmless middle-aged woman was beyond him, but he didn't bother to find out as long as she had a skeleton key and the long knife in the kitchen at her disposal.

Trying to open the door as quietly as possible and closing it similarly, he slipped into the dimly lit entrance hall. He smiled to himself, patting himself on the back for his secretiveness, before hearing the sound of movement from behind him. His blood froze as he turned around, and met the face of none other than Avdotya at the base of the leftmost staircase.

"You're very late," she uttered with a sigh, lifting herself off of the step and folding her arms in a pouting manner.

Wolfe opened his mouth and closed it again.

"I'm sorry, Avvie . . . I completely forgot about my promise until now," he apologised.

"No, not that, you twit," she responded, smiling for an instant before it drained from her again. "I already forgave you about that . . . but you forgot about recital."

"Recital . . ." he repeated musingly before he smacked his forehead with his palm lightly. "By the elements, I forgot!"

"You always do," she added monotonously, stepping up to him, "but this time it is serious. Mother and Father are furious. . . ."

"That we are," spoke a voice from the poorly lit area in between the staircases, causing the both of them to jump. From one of the armchairs that were set near the fireplace within the centre rose none other than the father himself.

"H-how did you . . . ?" Av spoke in surprise, her voice cracking slightly.

"How am I here without you knowing?" the father rumbled in a low tone. "Simple. I never left." He turned towards Wolfe with a scowl that he could see in the darkness. "I want to speak with you . . . alone. Avdotya, go to your room and wait till we are finished."

"B-but I—"

"Now."

She did not try any further, and cast a worried glance over to Wolfe before running up the steps. His eyes followed her all the while until she disappeared behind the door to her bedroom, the door clicking audibly behind her in the ominously silent room. Gulping, he looked down towards the father, who still stood by the chair and glowered at him.

"Have a seat," the father commanded, offering the other chair with an open hand.

Wolfe took the offer without hesitance, stepping over into the dark and seating himself in the leather seat. The older man took the time to pour something over the fireplace and afterwards setting the wood ablaze. The youth couldn't help but shudder as he turned around and sat in the other chair next to him. The flames reflected their faces, a grim countenance of the father as well as the fearful one on his own.

"I'll keep things simple," the father spoke, keeping his tone level, but Wolfe still could feel the displeasure underneath the restraint. It was almost bubbling from him. "Where were you this afternoon?"

"Didn't Avvie tell you what I was—"

"Call her Miss Avdotya."

Wolfe checked his breathing, closing and opening his eyes in a meditating manner. Even though this wasn't the first time he was corrected, he hated it. She was akin to a sister to him, and to have such formality between them seemed too distant and callous. He bore with it to the best of his ability, though.

"Miss Avdotya didn't tell you? I was visiting a friend . . . a friend that I haven't seen since I was much younger. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to see her again."

"And that dismisses you from your duties?" the father countered stonily.

"Duties? Since when was reciting a list for a party a duty?"

"Watch your tongue, Timbre," rumbled the man with cold, dull eyes that contrasted the embers in the background, "or I will rip it out of your mouth."

Wolfe backed into the chair involuntarily as a shudder crawled up his spine. Never before was he called by his old surname before by Avvie's parents, nor was he threatened by them previously. Though he wanted to say something, his instincts told him to stay silent.

"Duties are important to me, and to Avdotya as well," the father continued, leaning backwards but still frowning gloomily at Wolfe. "You will do your own part, or there will be definite consequences."

Wolfe bit down on his cheek, part of him wanting to shout out at the speaker. Blood seeped out of the prick from his canine and coated his tongue, reminding him that silence was the better choice. He opted for silence.

"From now on, you will come back every five in the afternoon to recite. My daughter's coming of age is less than a fortnight away, and I won't tolerate any arrogance or laziness. Understood?"

Wolfe felt his tongue quiver in his mouth, the inner muscle threatening to let loose a torrent of angry words, but he kept it in check and nodded hesitantly.

"Understood," he spoke slowly, trying to keep his tone under control.

"Good," spoke the father in his grumbling manner, crossing his legs and folding his arms. "You are dismissed."

Wolfe did exactly so, keeping his pace slow but not lingering. Without as much as a glance backwards, he headed up the staircase on the right side, opened the door to his smaller bedroom, and closed it behind him softly, backing up against it to stare into the darkness in front of him. He wanted to vent, to take his frustration out on something, but that was impossible to do now when the master of the household could hear him.

* * *

Minutes of frustration flitted by before he heard the sound of movement from outside his door. The father, he guessed, finally got off of the chair and headed off somewhere. Once the sound of footfalls faded from earshot, he let out a quiet sigh and decided to move to the edge of his bed to lie down. The sparse sheets were dingy and abrasive to the skin, but it kept him warm well enough at nights so that he felt he should not complain.

A soft rap on his window pierced the ever-present silence of the house, and he turned his head to see a friendly face. Directly outside, standing on the small slab that extended from his sill, was Avdotya smiling in at him. How she performed her feats of wall-climbing, he had no idea, but he was too used to it to worry about her falling over the side.

Emitting a grin back at her, he managed to pull himself off of the bed and open the window fully. She stepped through lithely as a result.

"Hey . . ." she greeted, taking a glance at him before seating herself on the side of the bed.

"Hey . . ." he returned, plopping himself next to her.

"I heard every word . . . it seems he's serious about this cruddy birthday of mine. Well, I knew he was serious about it, but to yell at you . . . well, that just ticks me off!"

Wolfe smiled lightly and shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, it _is_ a special day," Wolfe uttered. "You'll no longer be a kid anymore."

"Yeah . . . there's that too . . ." she sighed softly, tossing a small curtain of hair behind her ear. "But you don't know the whole story."

"What do you mean?" he queried, his ears perked and ready for an answer.

"He . . . he wants me to marry by then," she answered with a blush.

"To mar—you mean to tell me that . . ." he blurted before cutting himself off and looking away, blushing mildly as well.

"Aw, come on, don't tell me you're jealous," Av grinned, giving him a swift punch to the shoulder.

"What? No!" he responded swiftly, causing both of them to laugh simultaneously. "It's just that . . . you will have to choose a guy within a fortnight . . . can you really handle it?"

"I can handle anything," she smiled, shaking her head. "It's you I am worried about."

"Me?"

"Yes . . . once I pick, you'll probably have to leave and we'll never see each other again."

"Then don't pick!" Wolfe blurted, raising himself to his feet. She turned away abashedly. "I don't want to not see you again! It's just wrong!"

She shook her head wistfully.

"No . . . no, no, Father would never allow it."

"There must be something! Anything we can do!"

"Wolfe, just drop it . . ." she requested softly, looking up at him with tears running down her visage. He opened his mouth to speak before closing it and glancing away, unable to speak. "We are just going to have to accept this," she continued, rising to her feet and hugging him tightly around the stomach line, "as well as make the best of the time we have left together."

He hugged back lightly and looked over her shoulder into the gloom. It seemed like a small eternity had passed before they broke away from each other, her walking to the window and him unable to move from his position.

"Wolfe, I . . . I want you to make a promise. . . ."

"Which is?" he spoke quietly, even though they were the only two people in the room.

She laughed in a soft tone as she stared out the open portal and brushed back her hair nervously, even though the passing wind knocked it back down immediately afterwards.

"I want you to promise . . . that we will see each other again . . . after I get married. Promise me this, please."

Wolfe glanced up towards her, unable to speak for several seconds. His lips felt like they were weighted by pewter.

"Avvie, you know we will."

"Promise . . ." she persisted.

"Of course I will promise that . . . you won't get rid of me by simply getting married off," he answered with a creeping grin.

"Thanks, Wolfe . . . that means a lot to me," she responded. She didn't turn, but he knew that she was smiling. "I should go . . . they are probably waiting for me," she continued, stepping up onto the sill and holding the edges of the window. "Before I go, though, I've another request."

"Yes?"

"Please don't hate Mother and Father," she uttered, finally looking back at him through the curtain of hair that the wind had tussled before scaling the exterior of the estate a second time.

He stared at the window for several minutes, her final words seeping into him ever so slowly before he shook his head.

"Don't worry, Avvie; I don't hate them . . ." he uttered weakly as he sat down on his bed again. "Sol and Mani! what a day. I'm going to get grey hairs from this, I'm sure of it," he groaned, his eyelids drooping as he laid backwards and placed his hands behind the back of his head. Minutes later, he was sound asleep.


	2. Chapter 2:  A Good Day

_**Ravaged Bonds Chapter 2: A Good Day  
**_

"_Weyard is composed of many an element: fire, water, air, earth, and others that have yet to be discovered. There are many secrets that alchemy has yet to reveal, and it is the duty of all scientists to open those secrets and unlock the truth behind human potential."_

–_Nathan Yenni, Chief Researcher of Tolbi_

* * *

The crow of a distant rooster wafted in through the still-open window, waking Wolfe from his slumber. He had always been a very light sleeper, and even the squeaking of rodents within the second-story walls of the mansion was able to wake him in the middle of the night. He groaned, knowing that dawn was just around the corner.

He lifted himself from the bed with his hands supporting him from behind and scooted to his feet, his muscles aching from the combination of an awkward sleeping position as well as his being in yesterday's clothes without changing. He bore through this with a shrug of his shoulders and ascended anyways, glancing out of the window with a smile. The wind had always fascinated him, and who could blame such a fascination? The winds of the Isles were wild and free as well as similar to a person with a very fickle personality, ready to smash into someone at times in oceanic gales while at others caressing with soft, briny breezes. It was quiet yet teasing now, almost urging him to go outside and have a blast in the early morning air, but he knew it was impossible to do. He had morning chores to complete, and after that came the session of tutoring that he considered absolute torture.

Huffing a sigh of annoyance, Wolfe decided to disrobe and garb himself anew in fresher clothes, albeit similar to his other ones in both hue and texture. It was just another day of death threats from otherwise friendly maids, the harping on a tutor that hates not only his guts but everything about him, and rehearsing for something he did not want to do at all.

Another sigh escaped his lips as he opened the door, starting to swing the door closed again before he froze in place, a strange smile welling on his face. The wind outside of his window gusted in anew in a strange fashion, almost as if it were arguing with him and promising that today was going to be better than that.

"Who am I to argue with you?" he spoke toward it softly, gazing in as if to see the invisible force before closing the door behind him and shrugging. Perhaps today was going to be a good day after all.

* * *

"Wait a minute . . . you're saying that Old Man Rhado is sick _again_?" Wolfe managed to sputter, a poorly hidden grin in the corners of his mouth.

The lady of the house, Avdotya's mother, was none too pleased with his loose-lipped exclamation, a small glower inset on her countenance that caused the wrinkles on his mouth to disappear. She was not a scary individual _all_ the time like the father figure; in fact, she was quite beautiful whenever she didn't scowl. Pure-black hair cropped to a length that spanned only down to her neck was neatly tied into a vine knot, the usual style of well-to-do women in the archipelago. Green eyes sparkled underneath bangs curling to the left side of her face, and every feature was akin to that of an angel's. An opulent light-blue nightgown flowed from her shoulders to the slippers at her feet, considering that it was still barely morning.

"That's rude, Wolfe," she replied, averting her head to look at him in the corner of her eyes; that one glare, a gesture that was simultaneously condescending and annoying, had always pestered him. "He is your teacher, and as such he is worthy of your respect. It's shameful."

"W-what?" he stuttered with an afterward rise of his eyebrow. "I never meant anything of the sort, but rather—"

"I'm sorry, but you interrupted me as I was speaking," she coolly spoke, a haughty undertone lying below her casual finesse that Wolfe was able to distinguish. " 'Old Man' indeed . . . he's still young, you know. Why, he's nearing his thirty-first birthday."

"You're kidding me . . ." he uttered in surprise, stifling a snicker.

"Hm . . ." she grunted, and Wolfe knew that wasn't a good sign. He wondered if she thought of him the same way as Av's father did the other night, still harbouring a grudge from his not showing up for the rehearsal. "Anyways," she continued, "I expect that Master Rhado will be back in a day or two. He was well enough to send out a carrier pigeon, after all. He always was quick to recover, and with the Great Healer by his side you'll get back to your classes in no time."

Without another word, she walked off into the other room, leaving Wolfe standing in the centre of the kitchen floor. He exhaled and shook his head, wondering if she really thought that he enjoyed being under Rhado's tutelage before he shrugged his shoulders. It was difficult, not having the same blood in his veins as the Avvie's parents or even Avvie herself, but he knew he had to bear with it.

An epiphany struck him: no tutor meant that there was no session, which in turn meant that he was free for the rest of the day, with the exception of rehearsal, of course. He smiled and stepped towards the door, more than prepared for a day on the town. It had been a while since he had some time to himself, and heading out for some fun sounded quite appropriate.

After donning his shoes, Wolfe reached for the door handle. There were some sounds of movement coming from behind him, but he decided to ignore it for the time being.

"Good morning, Wolfe," he heard behind him.

Well, there went that idea. He turned away from the door to inspect who it was and made a simultaneous smile and frown, noticing Avdotya.

She was smiling down at him as well while she travelled down the staircase, her hand sliding along with the handrail before she reached the end. It wasn't long, though, when her expression changed into one of confusion.

"Going somewhere . . . ?" she inquired, her head tilted aside.

Wolfe inwardly cursed his luck and darted his tongue over his lips.

"Old Man Rhado called in sick again, so there are no classes today," he replied, tossing a meaningless smile in her direction.

"I know; Mother told me as she passed me by," she laughed mildly, brushing down the older blue dress she wore. "That does not answer my question, though."

Again, he cursed his luck. That was yet another gift of hers: when focused, there was little that could slip by without her noticing.

"I was thinking about heading into town. I've some errands to run, and I need to head out for some fun every now and then, right?" he queried with a grin.

"True . . . but you weren't going to ask me to come along?" she inquired, a small frown forming.

Her reply was exactly what he feared it to be, and he glanced away towards the door uncomfortably.

"You know I love having you along, Av, but . . . sometimes I have to break away from the norm of things and do stuff on my own. We can go some other time, all right?"

She frowned and sat down on the bottom step with her head on her hands gloomily. Wolfe felt slightly ashamed of himself as he looked at her, but turned to go regardless, swinging the door open.

"But why now . . . ?" she spoke up from behind him, causing him to freeze halfway through the portal.

"Why now?" he questioned in confusion, wondering what she meant.

"I'm going to be married off soon, and we won't be able to see each other again for a long time. You'll be on your own afterward . . . your own person, so shouldn't we spend our time together instead?"

Wolfe swallowed hard and turned to face her.

"Oh. . . . Sorry, Av, I—" he managed to say before getting cut off.

"You forgot again, didn't you? You never really had a good memory," she commented, eliciting a small, bittersweet smile from the both of them.

He let out a small chuckle, searching for a comeback but none came to mind. Silence flooded the main hall for a several seconds, interrupted only by the sound of the maid trotting down the west wing of the manor with a somewhat loud string of mutters. Emery was never a very quiet individual.

"Well then . . ." he managed to speak, licking his lips nervously, "would you like to come along?"

Avdotya raised her head, her eyes lighting up from their previous gloom.

"You mean it?" she uttered with a smirk.

"Of course, you twit," he answered playfully, a wide smirk on his countenance. "Besides, it's not like you would have accepted any other answer."

"True," she agreed in a nonchalant fashion, lifting herself up from the stairwell and stepping towards the door. "So what errands were you going to do, or were you simply making that up?" she queried, grinning as she pulled on her walking boots.

"My-my, aren't you full of questions, Little Sis," Wolfe replied with a wide grin of his own.

"Pfeh, Little?" she chuckled. "You know as well as I do that you're a year younger than me, so don't give me that tripe about you being older than I am!"

"Oh, of course not," he continued teasingly, giving her a slug on the shoulder before he opened the door wide. "I simply meant that you're starting to shrink in your old age."

Before she could react, Wolfe grinned like a shot fox and flew down the walkway, much to Av's displeasure.

"WOLFE! Get back here! I'm gonna wallop you!" she shouted after him, tossing the door shut as she exited.

He kept running, blazing down the road with the speed of a manticore; it was the only thing he could do. Not soon afterwards was he plastered on the side of the road with her sitting on top of him, shouting out a stream of apologies into the dirt.

* * *

"Ugh, this'll take forever to heal up . . ." groaned Wolfe, rubbing his shoulder blade in the sensitive spot where he fell on.

"It was your own fault, you know," Av spoke casually, a small grin hidden in her features.

"You _really_ need to take a joke sometimes without blasting me into the ground like that," he continued with an afterward laugh. "I'd fear for your future husband when he comes along, the poor guy pinned to the ground after making a slightest comment about your wedding dress or when you ask if you are fat."

She swiftly turned towards him, eyes aflame. Wolfe issued a gulp and backed away, his hands lifted defensively in front of him.

"W-what's with that look? I never meant anything by that!"

"Uh-huh, sure you didn't," she responded, a simultaneous smirk and frown revealing themselves. "So, I'll ask again, and this time, no snide remarks . . . what kind of things were you planning on doing on this day out?"

"I had a lot of plans for today," he answered with a sharp exhale, relieving the tension in his arms. "Most of them are pretty minor, and some of them rather fun."

She nodded lightly, and both continued to walk along in silence, looking up at their surroundings. Neither had been to the heart of the town for several weeks, preferring the countryside more than anything else, but it was still a treat to be there after so long a time. The buildings on either side of the street were pleasant to look at, most of which were a blend of soft brown sandstone from the nearby quarry and wood. A few people travelled around in the streets, shifting from building to building and attempting to catch the next ferry in time. Wolfe couldn't hold back an amused smile when he saw them rush towards the small craft hurriedly, and apparently so did many of the locals.

"So what are the fun things, then?" Avvie spoke up to break the silence, glancing over at him and unknowingly missing all of the excitement.

"Well . . . I was hoping to stop by the tavern over there," he replied, pointing towards the building.

"Wolfe!" she shouted with a huff. "But you're underage!"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I never said I was going to drink there, now did I?" he asked with a small wink.

"Then what were you going to do, pray tell?" she demanded, giving him a quizzical glance that could turn milk to curd.

"I was going to harmlessly bet a few coins in the Lucky Dice games," he responded, a small smile building up as his eyes glistened. "The odds are always high to get them back, and I will be many coins richer by the end of the—"

"You are gambling now?" she interrupted, the glare hardening.

"It's not a big deal, Avvie," he laughed. "I never bet anything big, and it is always for fun. Besides, I've always been a lucky individual."

"What else _was_ on this list of yours, then?" she grumbled unhappily, making sure that he knew she wouldn't allow it now that she came along.

"Hmm, I was thinking about checking the market for anything that looks good, spooking some cows, pulling a fast one on Old Man McGregor over there—"he grinned and waved over to the elderly man sitting on his porch, watching the passers-by as they walked past; McGregor waved back, oblivious to what he said earlier—"and I was hoping to meet up with Isha later for some fun."

When Wolfe looked over after uttering his list, he noted Avdotya, smiling mischievously as she stared ahead. That was hardly a good sign at all.

"So what does this Isha look like? Is she pretty?" she asked as she glanced toward him, grinning agley.

He chuckled lightly and scratched the back of his head.

"Don't get any funny ideas . . . but yes, she is. She's red hair, light skin, and a smile that could draw you into smiling as well."

Av nodded and looked ahead again, her head tilted slightly to the right as if she were looking at something. Almost instantly after Wolfe realised this, she lifted her hand and pointed in front of her.

"Then is that Isha over there?"

Wolfe's eyebrows rose as he looked ahead. Sure enough, the red-head was directly in front of them, pausing at the front door of the local inn. She must have seen them, her face turning a shade more pallid, before she rushed back inside, the double doors of the establishment swinging behind her as if they were enormous shutters. Wolfe could only stare in shock, his mouth hanging open.

"W- . . . what was that?" Avvie questioned, hardly believing her eyes as she also witnessed the scene. She turned towards Wolfe in confusion. "She's not always like this . . . is she?"

He shook his head slowly.

"Av . . . if I may, I'd like to talk to her," he uttered, still staring at the doors.

"Of course, but do you mind if I t—"

"I think it would be best if you waited," he interrupted, a small frown in the corners of his mouth. "Please allow me this. . . ."

"Of . . . course . . ." she repeated, looking down at the ground dejectedly. "I'll wait on the porch then. . . ."

"Thanks, Av. I'll be back soon, I hope," he replied, stepping towards the inn doors and passing through the portal. His sister stayed behind for a time before walking to the porch and seating herself, no doubt wondering what was going on.

* * *

The door was almost effortless to go through, swinging so lightly on the hinge that Wolfe felt even the slightest breeze was enough to force it open. The interior of the inn was small and dark, merely harbouring enough place to seat a few patrons when they ate their meals or sat down for a brief drink. Grain-beer and stiff-water draughts were rare and terrible to the taste buds in those parts, but some enjoyed the aftereffects of the alcoholic liquids after a hard day's work enough to stop by on occasion.

Wolfe took a glance around, recognising a few of the sites around him from the last time he visited and moving on to the people. The innkeeper, a weasel-like fellow with thin features, a gaunt stomach line, and wide eyes, was sitting at the corner of the room, discussing with a middle-aged lady about some trifles. A few other patrons were scattered about, some of them eating luncheons reeking of garlic and onion while others traded words with each other.

Surprise passed over his face when he thought that he didn't see Isha anywhere, but not soon afterwards he spotted her, sitting at the opposite end of the room in a corner with her back towards him. She was obviously trying to hide from him. She wanted him to leave and not talk to him at the moment. Questions flooded his mind as to why, but he beat them all down, instead swallowing his fear and stepping across the creaky floor toward her.

"I was hoping that you didn't see me, Wolfie . . . but it's too late to hope such things, huh . . . ?" Isha sighed as he approached, not needing to turn around to know he was close by.

He ceased walking, shocked, before he licked his lips, continuing along the path to the other side of the table to seat himself. The floor was slightly dingy, a definite sign of the lack of good service for the inn, but he didn't mind. Instead he looked up at her, noting her features, and lowered his gaze once more on the table's surface.

"And why exactly didn't you want me to . . . ?" Wolfe asked, keeping his voice low to match her own. She shrugged helplessly and shook her head.

"It was just that . . . you both seemed happy. I didn't want to bother you—ah! er . . . either of you—when you were having fun with each other, and . . . oh dear, I'm sorry. . . ."

"Isha . . ." he uttered, wondering what to say at a moment such as this. Her anxiety was coming back with redoubled vigor than when they were in the forest, and she hid her face behind her hands, sobbing into them. "Isha, please just stop crying . . . that is the last thing that I want to see you do."

She did not stop for some time, sobbing into her arm and wiping her eyes against her pale skin. Wolfe watched the entire time, too dumbfounded to even speak or turn his head. Everyone's eyes, including the weasel-faced innkeeper, were surely focused on them both, waiting for something to happen until they finally returned to their conversations. With a few remaining whimpers, she took her head out like a turtle from a shell, her face stained with the tears she had rubbed her face against.

"I'm sorry that . . . that you have such a weak friend such as myself . . ." she sniffled, drying her face off with the back of her hand and wiping it on the same dress as he had seen her in yesterday. "You deserve better than the likes—"

"Isha, please!" Wolfe interrupted, pounding the table with enough force to rattle the dirty cups on the table next to them. She leapt partially up in startlement and stared at him, her eyes frozen in anxiety. "Enough about your being weak! If there's anything I know, it's that you're not the least bit so!"

Isha's face was positively stiffened, frozen into a homogenous mix of fear and incredulity. Her bottom lip quivered as the rest of her shuddered minutely.

"W-Wolfie . . ." she uttered softly, uncertain of what to say other than his name.

He gulped as his eyes met hers, both finding themselves unable to break the gaze. After several seconds that felt like hours at a time, he finally did so and attempted to stand, feeling like the most idiotic person in all of Weyard.

"Wolfe, please don't . . . !" she blurted out, reaching across the table and grabbing his sleeve. "Please don't leave like this, I beg of you. . . ."

He paused for a minor amount of time before seating himself once more, Isha mirroring him. His eyes were still downcast and settled on his lap.

"Wolfe . . . I really need to know . . . do you really think that to be true? That I am not weak . . . ?" she asked lightly. "Please, look at me and tell the truth . . . the honest truth. . . ."

Again, he looked up into her eyes, the twin dark-purple pools that appeared greyer and more serious than he had ever seen them before. She did not bother to brush back her bangs, even though he could barely see her left eye.

"Of course it's the truth, Isha . . ." he uttered, trying to sound as sincere as he possibly was able to. "I have never thought that you were weak from the day we first met. Quiet, yes, and jumpy too, but never weak. I don't know what gave you such a notion as to think that."

She turned from him and closed her eyes, tears forming in between her eyelids and threatening to stream out. It was impossible to discern what was happening behind them, or even behind her stone-like features. He wondered if he said anything that made it worse, and was about to speak before something caught his eye. For the first time since yesterday, he saw her smile.

"Those are words that I wanted to hear for a very long time . . . yet never thought were going to come," she stated, opening her eyes and looking at him. "I . . . I can't thank you enough for that, Wolfe. . . ."

"There's no need for thanks," he responded with a smile of his own before glancing over to the door. "I'm sorry, but Avvie is waiting for me outside and—"

"A-ah, right, I forgot about her . . ." Isha stated, cutting him off and looking down. "I'll not hold you here any longer . . . you go ahead."

"Thanks, but I'd rather not go alone," he laughed, scratching the base of his neck. "I was going to ask you later, but now's as good a time as any, since we've run into each other already. Av and I are going for a day on the town, and I was hoping you'd join us."

"M-me?" she squeaked as her eyes darted up and narrowed. "I-I don't know if I could . . . I mean, I don't want to impose and . . ."

"You're not imposing if I'm the one asking you to do it," he answered with a outwards laugh.

"W-well, yeah, but what if she doesn't want me to? You still haven't asked her yet . . . and. . . ." She cut herself off, unsure of what to say.

"I'm sure Avvie will accept. She never was good at winning arguments with me anyways." He grinned agley, rising up onto his feet once more. Her eyes followed him as made his way around the table, and then down at his hand as he extended it towards her. Blood rushed to her cheeks. "So . . . are you coming?" he continued, smiling down at her.

She even more as she accepted his hand, getting up from the table with ease as he pulled her upright.

"I'll be more than happy to . . ." she replied, her hand not leaving his for a few idle seconds.

She went first, her step lightening with each passing second as she stepped towards the door. Wolfe followed in suit, feeling the weight of what had happened earlier slip off of him as well. Today _was_ going to be a good day, after all.

* * *

"So where did you go when you left Palmaria?" Avvie asked curiously, leaning her head to the left as the three gazed out into the abandoned farmlands once again. Isha sat cross-legged atop one of the thick posts that were outcropped on the outskirts of the land, whereas Avdotya and Wolfe were reclining against a roughly cut fence that had withstood the elements since the dismantlement of the farm.

Isha smiled lightly, looking down into her lap. Even though she was skeptical about coming at first because of Avdotya, she was undoubtedly happy that she did so, actually enjoying her company as they went everywhere in town. Wolfe took note of this as he looked over, and smiled as he waited for an answer.

"I moved from city to city with the rest of my family . . . most of the places in Angara, but several of them in Indra and Gondowan as well . . . ," she started off, her eyes shining over as she spoke. "We never stayed in place for a long period of time, but I didn't mind. I saw the world and fell in love with it . . . but nothing was even slightly similar to this place. Even though I enjoyed it, I don't think I could relax anywhere else. This isle has always been what I considered home, and I—we—came back for old times' sake."

Isha's smile dropped as she nodded her head side-to-side, much to Wolfe's confusion as he continued to look in her direction. If anything, he expected her to be happy to come back. He was about to open his mouth, but Avvie beat him to the punch.

"So why are you frowning . . . ?" she asked quizzically, speaking over a swift sea breeze that passed through the pastureland.

Isha raised her eyes before she dropped them again.

"You wanted to know where I went . . . but I said more than that when there was no need to," she explained softly, the hair in front of her eyes dancing about in the passing gust. "I don't like wasting people's time. . . ."

"Oh, rubbish," Avdotya responded with an added laugh. "There's nothing wrong with that in the least. In fact, we actually _enjoyed_ listening, didn't we, Wolfe?"

He nodded in agreement in her direction, and as he wheeled his head around he noticed the faint shadow of a smile present on Isha's face. It was slightly forced, he knew, but she did like hearing that.

"Well, I'm sorry to say this, but we have to go soon," Av spoke with a slight grunt, pushing against the rail to ascend to her feet. "Wolfe and I have a recital to go to before the day wanes on any longer."

Wolfe's eyes widened slightly. Something was nagging at the back of his mind ever since he first arrived here, and finally he realised what it was. Isha only nodded and smiled.

"It's fine," she responded, scooting to her feet and dropping onto the ground effortlessly. "I had too much fun to complain . . . but if it isn't too much to ask, I want to speak with Wolfe privately. . . ."

"Oh, of course. Just don't keep him for too long, or he'll be late, as per usual," Avdotya replied playfully, launching a grin at the both of them. "Be sure to catch up later, okay, Wolfe?"

"Yeah, yeah," he chuckled, pushing himself off of the fence and leaning his back against it in a smooth motion. "I'll be there before you know it."

Nodding, she headed back onto the path and started for the manor. Wolfe smiled as he watched her leave before turning to face Isha once again.

"So what was it that you wanted to speak to me about?"

"W-what? Oh . . . I . . . I wanted to thank you for inviting me to come with you . . ." she uttered, blushing and turning her head to a degree.

"Ah, well then you're quite welcome. It was a pleasure to have you come along," Wolfe replied, "but why did you want to say this privately? I'm sure Avvie would have loved to hear this as well."

"Because . . . it wasn't the only thing that I wanted to ask you," she continued. "I wanted to ask . . . what you thought about Miss Avdotya . . . if you cared about her, I mean. . . ."

Wolfe tossed a quizzical glance at her, completely surprised by the question. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly as he searched for something, anything, to say.

"Of course I care for her . . . she's the closest thing I have to family," he spoke several seconds later.

"But what about your parents and your brother . . . ? I remember that they were quite nice."

He closed his eyes, emotion flooding over his face, before he opened them again.

"My parents . . . my brother . . . they died shortly after you left . . ." he answered softly, turning around and scowling. A gasp shot through the air behind him, but he hardly heard it. "A freak storm ripped through . . . and I was the only one that made it."

"W-Wolfie . . ." was the only thing she could say, her voice filled with regret of ever saying anything about the topic. "I . . . I—"

"Don't fret about it, Isha . . . this is something that I promised myself not to look back on much. I shouldn't have told you ab—"

He didn't get much further before he felt her arms coil around his torso and pull him into a soft embrace. He struggled at first, completely taken aback by the sudden action, before he loosened up.

"I-Isha? Why did you . . . ?" he asked, droning off as he turned his head to catch sight of her, but failing to do so.

"I felt that you needed it . . ." she uttered, tightening her arms around his stomach. "I don't know what to say, but . . . I'm so sorry that it happened . . . and I'm sorry that we left before this happened. We could have taken you with us on our trip around the world . . . we could have had so much fun, and. . . ."

She sniffled and released her grip, pulling away and nearly stumbling on the grass below her. Wolfe turned around slowly, unsure of what to say, or even do, in this matter. They both appeared like marble statues, staring at each other and finding it difficult to move. Finally, he managed to break the gaze.

"Isha . . . maybe it was for the best," he uttered softly. "We may not have been the same people as we are now, and . . . I may never have met Avvie."

She nodded, though when he lifted his eyes to meet her own he detected the slightest amount of sorrow within their depths. A cool and faint breeze blew by, reminding them of Sol's lowering, and she closed her eyes to keep the bangs from striking them.

"That might be true . . . but one would never know." She paused for an instant, her mouth opening mildly before she closed it again. "I-I'll see you later then . . . maybe even tomorrow. Goodbye, Wolfe . . ." she sputtered a little later, turning to leave.

"W-wait, Isha, what were you going to say earlier?" he asked spontaneously, stopping her dead in her tracks. She turned around to face him.

"I wasn't going to say anything else. . . ."

She was lying. He was almost sure of it, but decided to let it slide.

"Well, then why did you ask about Avvie?"

"Curiosity. . . ."

He frowned as she started to leave again, but this time he was not going to stop her, instead watching her leave. The wind returned, a partially strong gust of air that again reminded him of the nearing end of the day and of the recital. He sighed lightly and knit his brow.

"I wonder if any of our conversations will end differently than this . . . ah well. I guess I shouldn't complain to you about how my day went, eh?" he chuckled lightly towards the wind, spinning around towards the road and breaking out in a brisk run to catch up with his sister.

The wind whistled in response, and good-naturedly slapped him on the back as if to urge him onward. It was right; today had been a good day after all.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello again readers, and thanks for reading. I hope this story is keeping your interest so far. Please plop a review off and tell me how I am doing. Feedback is an author's best friend, as it helps one improve and betters your reading experience overall. C'mon, don't be shy.  
**


	3. Chapter 3:  A Confession

_**Ravaged Bonds Chapter 3: A Confession  
**_

_Power is a double-edged sword, and can dig an early grave for any who misuses it._

–_Arnaud, the Wandering Prophet of Lemuria_

Isha stared at the tall, oaken double-doors in front of her with a hand poised near one of the lion-head doorknockers, wondering if she should knock or not. Her hand trailed along an invisible line, moving forward towards the leonine shape and recoiling worriedly as if it were part of an odd dance.

When it came to deciding, Isha felt that she was never truly good at it, and the euphonic tones of a piano within made the choice of disturbing the household even more difficult. Her fellow Adepts were stouthearted, fiery, brazen, and ready for anything that comes their way, but she was none of these things. At first she enjoyed the thought of her being different, but more often than not she desired to change to the norm. Now was one of those times.

With a dry swallow, she rapped against the door with one of the lion heads three times, each crash of the metal piercing the music like decisive blows. It was louder than she expected, but there was no answer.

She licked her lips and chose to do it again, this time with both knockers. The flowing piano notes still flowed, assuring her that no one had heard her. She sighed and turned about, seating herself on the edge of the porch and feeling very much ashamed of herself. Maybe it was foolish for her to come here, she thought. Surely everyone was tied down and doing something on their weekend, right?

The squeaking of a slowly opening door hinge startled her to her feet, and through the crack she found the fair face of the household maid. She appeared to be a level-headed and morose individual, her dark brown hair pulled back into a well-groomed ponytail and wrapped with a kerchief, her eyes distant, and her maid's dress neatly pressed. She must have been in her late twenties or early thirties, but one could hardly know which by just seeing her.

"Can I help you?" she asked, looking over the young lady with a blank expression.

"U-um, I was hoping to find Wolfe around. Is he . . . here . . . ?" Isha queried, her voice cracking slightly as she walked up to the door.

"Oh, you're one of _his_ friends, huh?" the maid sniffed, her gaze now betraying much more than a tinge of anger. "Sorry, but I can't help you. You'd best be on your way; I have more important business to do than talk about the likes of him."

"H-hey, wait!" Isha uttered, grabbing the edge of the door as the maid withdrew her head. The door grudgingly stayed in place before the maid opened it again.

"Would you kindly," the maid huffed, "remove your presence from here? Didn't you hear me earlier? I can't help you."

"But he lives here, right? Can't I ask anyone else if they know where he is?" she persisted, her arms dropping to her sides.

"No, you cannot. The lady and mistress of the house do not wish to be disturbed from their piano practice, and they will not as long as I am around. You might as well wait for—"

"Emery, who is it that you are talking to? I never said I didn't wish to be disturbed . . ." Avdotya's voice spoke from behind the door. "Go on, I can handle things from here."

"B-but—" the housemaid sputtered as she turned her back towards the source.

"But, nothing! Go on, I'm certain that there is something in the house for you to clean up."

"Humph!" said Emery with a stamp of her foot, and she left without another word, her head disappearing out of sight and angry trotting echoing through the manor.

"I'm terribly sorry about that. She's always in a grouch and no matter what—" Avvie spoke through the door before she opened it fully. Her eyes widened to the size of trikin balls when she realised who it was at the door. "Oh, it's you!" she exclaimed happily upon the sight of her visitor. "What brings you here, Isha? There's nothing wrong, I hope?"

Oh, no . . . nothing, um, happened," Isha replied nervously, looking down at her feet. "I was just wondering if, er, Wolfe was here. . . ."

Av smiled and shook her head.

"He left a while ago to get some time to think. It's difficult for him to concentrate when _I'm_ playing the piano," she chuckled, leaning her arm against the door. "I think he would enjoy your company, however. You're more of the shier, quieter type of person, after all."

Isha naturally rouged and turned slightly away, abashed by the comment. Avdotya took notice of this.

"Oh . . . I'm sorry. I only meant that you were . . ."

"It is fine . . ." Isha responded, looking back up with a somewhat forced smile before dropping it. "Do you know where can I find him . . . ?"

Avvie frowned and bit down on her cheek.

"I never thought about where at first, but now that you mentioned it he seemed rather gloomy this morning . . . so he probably went _there_."

"W-what? Where . . . ?" whispered Isha unconsciously.

"Caanara Farmstead."

Both fell silent, the only sound stemming from the faint whimpers of the ever-present breeze.

* * *

The fields along the northwest road where Isha travelled were tall and untouched by cattle for many years, yielding a vast amount of the ruddy faces of corn roses that jutted their lazy faces out of the verdant curtain of grass. The air was thick with poppies' pollen, so much so that she started to feel a headache forming from inhaling the vapours without a handkerchief over her nose and mouth, but still she pressed on.

In the hazed distance as she neared the end of the pasturelands she could see the ruined shape of what previously was a farmhouse, and felt her innards squirm at the sight of the damages it withstood. The thatched straw roof previously there was shredded and gone, and thick beams were hurled far from the house as if they were participating logs in a caber toss. Only mortared stone and several lucky columns remained standing, with timbers that were still attached by a strong nail swinging in the air and rotting in the dew.

Isha swallowed hard, wondering what kind of storm could be so monstrous as to obliterate a house in its entirety. No one else on the island mentioned a storm of such calibre to her, but she hypothecated that it must have been taboo to talk about it, especially to the tourists that come every so often to see the beauty of the isle.

A snaking trail of recently disheveled grass caught her eye as she continued down the road, headed towards the house in a more-or-less straight line. She knew beyond all doubt that it had to be Wolfe's, and decided to follow its path before rooting in place. She spotted him.

He was standing in the middle of the meadow, his eyes focused downwards into the depths of the tall grass as if deep in thought and his countenance as solemn as a judge's. Isha had no idea what make of this and stepped closer worriedly.

"Wolfie . . . ?" she uttered softly, pushing her way through the grass and not minding the poppy thorns that grazed her skin.

He whirled around, hearing the sound of her skirt rustling through the grass, and blinked.

"Isha? What are you doing here?" he questioned with a tilt of his head.

She felt the heat rush to her cheeks and looked down, searching for words in the back of her mind.

"I . . . I just felt like I needed to stop by . . . you know, to check in on you," she managed to utter, dodging his gaze and feeling exceptionally silly. She thought silently on why she did come here and couldn't find an answer, or at least one that she could tell him.

He smiled only mildly before rotating.

"Thank you, Isha . . . I'll be with you in a second, okay?" he uttered as a small gust swept through, tossing the plants and the twosome's hair before dying off.

Isha nodded hesitantly, but something did not seem right to her. Why was he being so distant with her, and what was he focusing on? Daring a curious look, she peered around him and cupped her hands over her mouth, issuing a gasp.

In front of him was a marble rock, crudely carved into a square at the base and arched at the top into an ill-formed cross. Blackened blotches where moss and lichen had been brushed away were still gleaming with morning mist, and engraved sigils decorated the side they both were on. It was assuredly a headstone.

Wolfe stepped toward the grave without paying attention to the noise behind him, felt the cold surface underneath his fingertips caringly, blessed the stone with every one of the seven signs of Sol and Mani, bowed his head to kiss its rough, rain-eaten surface, placed a lone dove-tail lily atop, and turned round. She could spot a torn expression on his countenance, and feel one on her own as well.

"Wolfie . . . was that . . . ?" she managed to utter before cutting herself off. She knew exactly who lay underneath the field.

He didn't reply, instead lapsing into silence.

* * *

"So how did you find me?" Wolfe inquired, looking over to his companion after what seemed like their longest silence together. Neither had spoken to each other since they left the grave, and both walked along the road back to town.

"Your stepsister told me that you were probably here . . . so I thought I should check it out," Isha spoke quietly, staring down at the ground underneath her.

"So Avvie told you . . . I should have guessed," he commented, staring out at the poppy-strewn fields. "Only she knows that I come here anymore, well, excepting you, of course."

Isha nodded and felt the wind pick up, tossing the pollen and fragrance of billions of individual plants into the air. She coughed as she accidentally breathed some of the steel grey powder in while Wolfe put a handkerchief up to his nose. After several seconds without the wind ablating itself, he stepped closer after they both paused, their eyes shut to keep themselves from being temporarily blinded.

"Ish, take this," he said, blindly attempting to place the kerchief in her free hand after many tries. "If you breathe too much in, you'll get sick. Trust me, I've learned that the hard way."

Finally, their hands met, and she covered her mouth as the wind died down at last. Wolfe watched worriedly as she expelled the pollen in her lungs, but she soon recovered and gave the cloth back to him, her eyes still wet.

"T-thanks, Wolfie . . . you're a lifesaver," she rasped, feeling the nauseating ache in her head disappear as time progressed.

He frowned from behind his wind-shielding shirt collar and tossed it back onto his neck.

"No, don't thank me," he replied with a sigh.

"Why not?" she asked, drying her eyes off on her inner arm. "You gave me your hankie, right? So why shouldn't I thank you?"

Wolfe chuckled at her response before losing his previous joviality. She was sweet . . . but she just did not get the big picture. He sighed again.

"Because it is my fault that these fields are untended for . . . this is Caanara, my family's land, after all, and since there is no one else to take care of it I should be the one that does, right?"

Isha looked at him worriedly before turning away.

"Well . . ."

"Actually, that was a silly question, wasn't it?" he continued with a shrug. "Of course I should be. People gag on pollen, cows can't graze without getting sick, and grass is over everything . . . even my family's graves. That is something I need to change."

"W-Wolfe, but you're just a kid!" Isha exclaimed towards him. "A kid like . . . well, me! Don't you find this too much responsibility to put on your shoulders alone . . . ?"

Wolfe pursed his lips, surprised by her sudden reaction, before shaking his head.

"Ish, my grandfather built the entire farm up all by his lonesome. He was younger than I was, too, so why can't I?"

"But . . . but you don't have to do it alone. I could help too. . . ."

"Your family wouldn't stand it, I'm certain. . . . You're a lady of nobility, even I can see that, and a noble would never let his daughter help the son of a farmer."

"My father would if . . . if. . . ."

She halted mid-sentence and froze in fear, unable to force her eyes to make contact with Wolfe's, while he blinked in confusion.

"If what?" he queried, trying to be as calm as possible.

She continued to dodge his gaze, even trying to slip away, but he caught her wrist before she was able to. She resisted at first and struggled to break free, but he kept a soft yet unyielding grip.

"Ish . . . c'mon, this is getting ridiculous. This is the third time you looked like you wanted to say something to me, and this is the third time you didn't say it. You didn't do this when we were kids, so why now?"

After a pause she turned around to face him, Wolfe letting go of her arm as she did so. She seemed positively terrified, but for what reason he could not figure out.

"It's . . . tough to get out . . ." she whispered, her eyes tearing up.

"Hey, I promise that I won't laugh, no matter how silly or serious it is. Now come on, out with it, all right?"

"It's not that I'm worried about . . . but . . . I'm sure you would know what I'm talking about, right?" she queried with a blush, wiping her face with her sleeve before looking him fully in the face.

Wolfe stared back, a befuddled look on his face. This was not like the Isha he knew at all, and instead was akin to what she had been in the forest two days ago. Not soon after he turned his head and coughed into a balled fist.

"Well . . . there is only one way to find out," he responded, locking his eyes again.

She smiled, turned redder, and pulled her hands behind her back.

"Er, it, uhm . . . it goes like this, er . . . what I mean to say is . . . I . . . like you. . . ."

Wolfe eyed her curiously and subdued a quiet laugh behind his fist again.

"Is that all you wanted to say? I mean . . . I like you too. Friends are supposed to—"

"I don't mean it like that. I meant . . . you know, that I _like_ like you," she continued, her eyes drifting away. "That I love you, Wolfie. . . ."

Time stood still as understanding struck him, and his fist dropped to his side lifelessly like his other hand. He searched her face, wondering if she was joking, but this was no joke. She was entirely genuine.

"We could rebuild this farm together . . . and share the workload evenly. One person would have a tough time, but with two people, we could bring this place back to its former glory. So . . . what is your reply? Please do it soon; I don't know how long I can last without an answer. . . ."

She kept her eyes locked on him and held her hands together in a begging manner. She thought beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved her back, and that scared him.

"Isha . . . I need to know. Are you gravely serious about all this?" he asked as a cold feeling like glacial ice ran down his spine.

"W-what? Of course I am!" she exploded, stepping back a pace in surprise. "When a woman says something like this, she means it down to the depths of her soul!"

He gulped down hard.

"But I . . . thought that you thought of me as a friend . . . nothing more."

"What does that matter now, Wolfie? I just said my feelings . . . my truest feelings. Is it that tough to say your own . . . ?"

"I-Isha, you don't understand, I. . . ."

Her face dropped, as did her shuddering, and she stared at him in fright. She did not have to hear anything else to know his full response.

"Wait, Ish! Give me more time!" he shouted hastily as she made a swift motion to leave, reaching out his hand to catch hers, but it was too late. She was faster than he was, and he grabbed only air.

"Just stay away, Wolfe!" she shouted through choked sobs, tossing her head side-to-side as she ran north. "Just stay away from me!"

He bit down on his lip so that he tasted copper, and stopped his attempt to chase after her, weighted down as if by lead and rooted to the spot. Guilt swam up into his throat, and all he could do was wordlessly watch her flee towards the forest, feeling like the biggest idiot that ever walked the flatness of the world.

* * *

The fields of his family grounds were long out of sight after he slipped through the overreaching shadow of the deciduous forest. Even though the sun started to approach its zenith, it had a difficult time attempting to tear through the canopy with its scorching sunbeams. That was soon not going to be a problem, though, when Wolfe passed through a clearing and looked at his left. The wind had changed drastically, even through the mass of trees surrounding him, and dark clouds that came into view on the western horizon assured that a wayward storm was coming from the mainland. They hardly garnered any interest to him; he had a much more important task to worry about than grumbling cotton balls.

Isha's final words clung to him like pine sap, and though he tried to ignore them he found it incredibly difficult to do so. She trusted him to feel the same way as she did, and he, without a doubt, that trust, did he not? He rubbed his eyelids and frowned, but continued to plod on.

He saw her in the distance at the first place where he looked, just beside the Granddaddy Apple with her head hung low. Dead and dying dove-tails lay scattered around the surrounding meadow in dirt-brown and dusk-red tufts, and the previous wonderful scents and smells that previously existed were now of dried vegetation. The flowers, even though they favoured sunshine, had a very short lifespan before reverting into seed pods, and only the few within the protection of the limbs of their woody brethren still survived without withering.

With a terse swallow, he tried his best to step silently among the flowers that littered the area, failing miserably as he stepped on a dropped seed pod with a loud crunch. He cursed his luck when Isha raised her head sharply and stopped.

Each stared at the other wordlessly, yet each had a different species of worry. Isha was the first to break the silence, looking back down into her lap.

"I knew you'd come here against my w-wishes . . ." she uttered lowly, tears forming in her eyes. "Somehow, I kn-knew you were that . . . th-that. . . ."

She sobbed into her hand, unable to continue, and Wolfe felt a new wave of guilt wash over him.

"Ish . . ." he uttered as he approached her side, sitting on a nearby root, "everything I said earlier . . . I'm sorry. I never expected anything like this, and I . . . well, I overstepped—"

"No, it's my f-fault, and my fault-t alone . . ." Isha sputtered, cutting him off and sniffling into her forearm. "I-I should n-never have come back here . . . never ha-ave thought of you any more than a-a. . . ." She shook her head helplessly and tossed her hands into her lap in a fit of anger. "I don't know what I'm saying anymore!" she bellowed as she gripped her forehead, an exploding sensation panging within her skull.

Wolfe's own forehead throbbed similarly, and worriedly he pulled her into a shallow hug. Looking down for an instant, he noticed the dying blossom of one of the flowers of the area cupped in one of her hands, brittle and fragmented.

"Isha, please don't say things like that, okay . . . ?" he whispered. "If you never came back, I would never have seen you again, and seeing you again is one thing I would never want to give up, even if this happened. . . ."

"D-don't you dare make this just about you," she retorted, nudging his hand off of her and turning her head way. "You're n-not the one that got pushed away!"

"I never pushed you away. . . ."

"B-but you said that you didn't love me! Or were going to, anyways . . ." she sniffled, shaking her head in despondence. Wolfe looked down.

"You're right . . . I admit that I never even thought about it that way before," Wolfe uttered. "However, you're still one of my two closest friends. I'd do practically anything for you, and that's why"—he swallowed and glanced over to her—"that's why I'll try to love you back. . . ."

Isha took in her breath sharply and stared at him in complete disbelief, unable to form the words that she desperately wanted to say. The flower she held fluttered away in a passing breeze.

"It's true . . ." he affirmed, sensing her doubt. "Ish, I don't want to see you sad, so I'll give this a chance as long as you promise me one thing. . . ."

"A-anything . . . what is that . . . ?" she inquired, lifting the skirt of her dress slightly to dry her face and setting it back down to look at him again.

"That if this doesn't work out . . . that if I cannot love you as you do . . . that we will still be friends."

She turned away again and dejectedly frowned at the ground. The wind spun around them again, this time stronger and tossing her blood-red strands of hair as she meditated. Finally, she brought her attention back to him.

"I'll promise that, Wolfie . . . though I would never wish for that to happen," she responded with a sad smile.

"Nor do I . . ." he concurred with a whisper, smiling back at her.

Blushing, Isha turned her head away, afterwards reaching over to where his hand was and slipping her fingers into his own. He gripped them back lightly, each holding the other by the hand for a fair length of time. Wolfe let out a chuckle and shook his head with a smirk on his face.

"What's so funny?" the redhead questioned, peering over with a forming grin as she saw him.

"I just thought that Avvie would enjoy herself when she sees us, um, well, together," he explained with an additional laugh. "She has been pestering me to go on a date with someone for a while."

"Well isn't that sweet of her . . ." Isha teased, giving him a friendly nudge. "Do you think she'd like to see us now?"

"Now? Oh, no, it's too early," he responded as he nudged her back. "If she found out now, she'd never let me live this down."

"Aw, so you're going to keep this a secret from her?"

"For the time being, I suppose, but not forever. She's too clever to hide things from for long," he chuckled before staring off into the distance. "Ish, I should go . . . you know, to think things through. So many things have happened these past few days, and I really need some time to ponder."

"I understand . . ." she spoke in a whisper and smiled over to him. Wolfe felt her fingers unraveling from his and instead rest on his wrist. "We all have things to ponder over . . . so I will leave you to that. I . . . I hope for the best, Wolfie, and thank you for coming. I don't know what I would have done if you left me here. . . ."

Wolfe frowned slightly at her last statement before smiling again.

"You are certainly welcome," he responded, giving her a warm hug before rising. "Whenever you feel like it, please go ahead and stop by the manor"—he paused and changed his tone to something gravely serious—"but stay away from the maid of the house."

Isha blinked a few times before she burst out laughing.

"What, you don't believe me? I mean it," Wolfe continued, frowning agley as he thought back to Emery.

"No, I believe you," she chuckled as she calmed herself enough to speak. "When I knocked at the door, she came first, and when I asked for you . . . well, the conversation ended. What did you do to the girl to make her so angry at you?"

"I don't know . . . but whatever the case, she hates my guts so much that she said she'd gouge them out of me."

"Sol and Mani, what a horrid thing to say!" Isha gasped, launching to her feet.

"I agree there, but it is a good thing she's harmless, eh?" he queried with a grin. "She can talk a Dirty Ape into praying for mercy, but from what I see she hates violence. Who knew? Whatever the case, if you see her, just divert her attention to cleaning something and she'll leave you alone," he added with a wink.

"And you wonder why she hates you!" she laughed.

"You know, I never thought it that way," he stated, still wearing the grin, "but whatever works, works. I'll see you around, all right, Isha?"

"Y-you know it!" she bubbled happily, a blush formed on her cheeks. "I'll be there at three o'clock, Wolfie!"

With a nod, he walked through the path of trodden flowers, feeling the weight that previously held him down tumble off of his shoulders. The wind flickered amidst the trees and made the needles dance as if in celebration, and a smile crossed his face as he passed underneath them.


	4. Chapter 4:  Two Crimson Shadows

**Author's Note: Yay for the fourth chapter. I hope everyone is enjoying the characters, regardless of the poorly moving plot, but I promise it will move in this chapter.  
**

**Disclaimer: I own Golden Sun! Really, I do! Bwahahahah! Oh, wait, no I don't. Bummer.**

* * *

_**Ravaged Bonds Chapter 4: Two Crimson Shadows  
**_

"_Father . . . ? Why did you wake me?"_

"_Darling, we need to go, and we need to go fast! Pack your things as quickly as you can. We are getting off of this island."_

"_B-but why? What about Wolfie? Can't I say—"_

"_I'm sorry, but we can't say goodbye to your little friend . . . you have achieved your inner potential, and bad men will come."_

"_Bad men? Where are the bad men?"_

"_Isha, Isha, calm down . . . no bad men are here or will ever hurt you. We're going to a better place now—mum, me, you, all of us. Forget all about Palmaria, my dear. You have your whole life ahead of you."_

"_B-but . . ."_

"_No buts about it, Isha. Go pack your things."_

* * *

Isha smiled and pressed her hands against her cheeks, feeling the heat transition from one to the other when she realised that she was flushing. Needless to say, she was immensely pleased with her good fortune and that this was a childhood dream come true. Never before did she feel so alive or happy, and every now and then she let out a giggle or a squeal of excitement.

"Oh, Ish, get a grip now . . . !" she told herself, struggling to keep herself under wraps as minutes rolled on past. "You're a grown woman, aren't you? Start acting like it!"

With a tight self-hug around her stomach, she managed to quell her nerves and seat herself on one of the elder tree's expansive roots to calm her mind, telling herself that there were more important issues to think about.

Isha slouched into the palms of her hands and looked down, her smile disappearing into an introspective frown. Getting Wolfe's acceptance was certainly a big deal, but what if he knew all of the things she had been keeping secret from him? She came back to be here at the one place she felt home at and to be with him, that much is true, but what would he say if she told him she ran away to do so? He lost all of the true family he had. Surely he would not truly accept her if she fled from her own, right?

That was just one of her worries, though. She was about to run out of money, her purse only having enough to pay for three more days of room and board, and that was excluding meals. She had to work to keep herself from sleeping in the streets or in the countryside, but who knew what would be the case and what was she to do? Everyone in this community provided for themselves and for each other, but she was no longer one of them.

She sighed, agitated toward herself for not planning better for the trek back to Palmaria. She had every intention to pay her father back when all of this was over, but perhaps she should have made a better loan, in a sense.

Her shoulders rolled as she rose to her feet, gazing in the town's direction through the wall of trees. All of this had to wait, she told herself. She would figure it out some other time, but now she had to prepare for meeting Wolfe again. A small smile encroached her lips again as she started to step into the forest and out of the glade.

* * *

She had never noticed it before, but the forest was as beautiful as it was ancient. Everything existed in perfect harmony, even if the lesser monsters came out at night, and both plant and animal worked in accordance to the other. Birds croaked overhead, the blossoms within a large patch of deciduous trees started to bloom in vibrant reds and blues, and attached to the bases of many were mushrooms with stalks as thick as branches, smiling underneath their indigo caps with cyanic gills. It was surprising to her that they were alive for so long, when she thought about it. The forest had been cleared by fire many times, and the mushrooms must have been very heat-resistant to survive the tongues of whatever flames that tried to attack them.

The snap of a charcoaled tree limb startled her from her observances, and she looked around to see what had caused it anxiously. Nothing in the forest was heavy and large enough to do that in the day, she knew from childhood experience, so what was it? Certainly not another human, right?

The faint murmurings of a distant conversation proved that assumption wrong, and Isha frowned slightly to herself. She did not feel like interrupting someone's conversation, and turned to leave, but it was too late to simply leave when she caught a glimpse of them. They did not see her, however, and she thanked her lucky stars for that, hiding behind one of the thick trees of the vicinity.

Two walking, corpselike people travelled along the path and stared ahead, neither of them glancing over to the other as they communicated, which Isha thought was quite strange. One had bleached yellow hair and terrible, wrapping scars all over his neck and face, distorting his appearance vastly. The remaining newcomer was kept half-hidden behind a mask of plate metal, yet thick silver hair that jutted out in thick, angling spikes and a diamond tattoo that lay branded into his cheek were visible on the other side. Cloaks of scarlet and deep black hues fluttered from their shoulders to just above their ankles, the blond's opened in the front as if torn into shreds by recklessness and the silver's neatly locked into place by a set of interlocking metal tines. She found that their ages were inverse of what she had guessed. The man with metallic hair appeared to be a youth, one nearly as old as she, and the other was probably in his late thirties.

She swallowed roughly and withdrew behind the tree. Something was not right between them, something almost inhuman but not quite. She knew that she feared them, however, and shuddered against the coarse bark of the tree.

No, that was not the way to be. It was not correct to fear or make biased assumptions someone who she had never met; she knew that much in her journeys both near and afar. Besides, she was a Mars Adept, a proud one, and she was not going to get scared even by these two. Clenching her fists so that her partially-formed fingernails bit into her palm and drew out four tiny pinpricks of blood, she turned to observe them again.

"So the extraction progress's going as planned," the man with the torn face uttered in a deep, unwavering basso, emitting a smile in his companion's direction that rippled across his face like disturbed shards of glass.

"Mm," the other grunted. "Progress has been achieved by 58% according to last year's quota, which is 23% more than what was previously attained at this current date. 83% of—"

"Listen, you don't have to tell me about all the numbers like you do with Superior," the yellow-haired individual snarled, his previous smile resetting. "Just keep things nice and organised, preferably without fancy-shmancy math. My head swims when you say stuff like that."

"I apologise," the masked man stated, not even turning toward his companion. "Changing diagnostics—"

"And stop talking funny, else I'll kill you myself!" the blond barked, gripping the youth's shoulder with a thick warped hand and pulling them both to a stop. "Talk—I dunno—human!"

"Understood . . ." the masked man uttered, his face shifting from emotionless and blank to one with more human characteristics. His steel-blue eyes no longer were dim, and his face regained some of its colour. "Does this suit you?" he queried, his voice slipping slightly.

"Much better."

Isha twisted around the tree, her heart leaping inside of her again. What exactly _were_ these people, and what were they doing here in the forest? In fact, what was this progress that they were talking about? None of it made any sense to her, especially the strange talk of the man with the plate mask. Against her body's wishes, she turned to the other side of the tree as the odd twosome continued along the forest floor.

"The crystals are getting easier to feed and siphon from. Isn't it strange, Carn, that we need to give Psynergy to gain Psynergy?" the silver-haired man questioned, this time looking beside him at the other.

"Hmm . . . I wouldn't know. Isn't food the same way? We chew to digest, and chewing spends energy. Digestion produces it."

"Fair enough, I suppose . . ." the man with silver hair droned, stretching his thin hand up to his chin as he stared up into the sky.

Isha pondered over what they were saying. Psynergy? What in Sol's domain is that, and why are they trying to harvest this strange thing? In fact, they are getting it from crystals, but crystals from where? Nothing made sense, but whatever the case may have been, she knew it to be fishy. These were no ordinary individuals, and she suspected that they were up to no good.

They were getting further down the makeshift path, and once again she had to adjust her position behind the tree. She tiptoed along with her back towards the tree, but the snap of something trodden under her foot carried through the air. Her heart skipped a beat and she pressed closer to the tree when the sounds of footsteps died off.

"Soo . . ." she heard the gruffer voice say worriedly.

"I know," the younger said, strikingly calm.

Seconds passed by without movement, from Isha or the cloaked twosome. She kept her breath in check, worried that even the slightest inhale or exhale may be heard or that they would search for the source. What she did not expect was the ripping of metal against wood, or her shoulder being pierced clean through.

She cried out in anguish, fighting back both pain and tears as she gripped the alien object lodged between her shoulder blade and collar bone. Glancing over, she found an enormous shaft of metal as shiny as white steel and thick as a coin, and her fingers felt blood, her blood, all along the place she wrapped her fingers around.

Carefully yet speedily, she removed herself from the object, keeping her eyes closed and her teeth gritted to bear through the throbbing pain in her shoulder. She did so, slipping off of the pointed tip and gripping her shoulder to staunch the blood flow. She had to get out of here fast before she ended up killed. She had much to live for, and she was certainly not going to let this end it all.

"Well, well, well. Lookie what we have here," the older shadowed figure exclaimed blandly with a grin, his face rippling in a disgusting modus. "It appears that you missed. You never miss."

"There was a 73% chance of hitting, and a 31% chance of striking a vital point at that height. The odds were not in my favour at the time, but I will not miss again with a 100% chance like this," the younger replied, tilting his head like a puppy. Isha found his face absolutely frightening; it was akin to watching grandmasters play chess, their eyes hazed yet their focus so gravely serious and intent so strong.

"What did I say about numbers?" Carn snarled in his direction before huffing a sigh and letting a grin form again. "Well, that's no matter. Bravo for stepping out, yet so very unintelligent. I'll let you handle this, Soo."

"I know," Soo replied, holding his hands outstretched and staring at Isha with calculating eyes.

And then, he started to chant.

Isha was unable to believe her own eyes when she saw a metal spire fire out of the ground at his feet, launched in her direction. Not even a Venus Adept could pull metal out like that, so what _was_ he?

She leaned backwards with her head angling to avoid the sailing object, and once again the metal shaft buried itself into a tree. She, however, was unscathed. She spun backwards with her good hand and legs with a backflip, surprising both herself and the others as well. She had never done that before, though she did have a bit of combat training during her travels.

"My, my, it looks like you missed again," Carn laughed. "What was this about 100% accuracy?"

"And what did you say about numbers?" the other replied in a monotone, still staring at Isha. Before his rowdy companion could counter, he continued: "I did not factor in the chance that she was an Adept. No normal human being would be able to move that fast unless she be a master swordsman or a martial artist. With both of those factors impossible, she's an Adept."

"An Adept? C'mon, Soo, you must be joking!"

"Look at her," the masked man uttered. "Don't you see the fear in those eyes? That is not the same type as normal—a coward's fear. This one has some courage."

"But fear she still has, and for good reason! Finish—"

Isha had chanted for a small while, mumbling words under her breath that she herself did not know but used as an incantation. Soo stepped back as he saw a Flare Wall being formed and countered with a metal shield, whereas Carn pirouetted away with a gross shift in his hideous face.

The wall of intense flames soon abated, and the odd Adept behind the shield shot the object towards her like a discus. She barely avoided being sliced open by the razor-sharp rims and slipped to the side, her agility coming into play. Continuing to mumble under her breath, she raised both of her hands and slammed them into the ground with a ferocious thud, wincing at the pain in her shoulder as the shock travelled up her arm.

Soo looked down where he stood listlessly before leaping backwards, just barely escaping the mouth of a forming volcano as Isha took magma beneath the ground's surface and launched it upwards. The cone was small, but the amount of molten rock that both streamed and blasted out of it was voluminous.

The two had to be experienced in the art of Adept warfare, she knew that much. Both of them were able to escape danger unfazed, even though the area they were in was wooded and lava pooled the ground. Several trees caught on fire at their bases as they were touched by fire, and the purpling mushrooms were set ablaze as if they were nothing.

The twin flashes of metal alerted her to the side of the volcano where the lava had not flowed down, but it was too late. Her boiling blood oozed, and she laid absolutely still, an expression of surprise strewn over her face. Touching her neck, she found a pair of bloody knives impaled through her throat and fell backwards.

"Target neutralised . . ." the silver-haired man uttered, his eye and skin colour returning to a partially normal hue before he gasped. "Sol and Mani . . . what have I done?"

"You've done your duty, and well at that," Carn replied, smiling out of slight mirth at both his companion and Isha's dying form as he stepped out from behind a tree. "You can leave her. She'll bleed out eventually. A fitting end for a snitch, really," he snickered.

"I . . . I understand . . ." the other spoke.

"Don't forget to take your lances out. Don't want to leave anything that would betray a battle."

"But what about the knives . . . ?" Soo inquired, glancing down on her once again. Daunting horror betrayed itself in his eyes as he looked at her, but why, she did not know.

"Just leave them with the body. Those won't compromise us." Carn turned about and headed in the direction that they both were going, glancing up at the now flaming branches of the nearby trees. "Hey, let's get out of here before we get caught in the blaze; I'm itching to get back."

Soo nodded hesitantly, extracted the lances, and allowed them to flow up his sleeve as if it were the water of a Mercury Adept. He did not seem fazed by the extra weight, and twisted around to follow his companion, leaving Isha alone amidst the raging inferno of scorching trees and lava. She lay there, unable to do anything but watch the embers lap up the dried leaves or the billowing smoke cloud of the newly formed volcano or even the ominous thunderclouds behind it all. This was supposed to be a good day, but now all she could see is the red of fire on the black of everything else.

"W- . . . olf- . . . ie . . ." she uttered amidst quiet rasps, tears rolling down her face and dissolving into the small yet growing sanguine puddle beneath her. "I'm s- . . . sorry. . . ."

* * *

The squawks of fleeing seabirds overhead was enough to make Wolfe feel queasy, and the clouds and growing intensity in the air could only make it worse. He knew it to be a bad omen, especially when the wind had shifted from its previously happy demeanour and instead slowed to a halt.

"What is going on . . . ? Not a stripe of lightning is in the sky, so why are things acting like this . . . ?" he queried to the wind, staring up at the dark wisps of cloud that started to pass overhead and snuffed the sun out like a candle.

His inanimate companion did not respond, remaining motionless and silent in the wake of the seabirds.

A loud explosion resounded through the forest, causing the seabirds to caw out in fright and Wolfe to panic. The sound came from behind him, and when he turned about to see what had caused it he saw a small pillar of pitch-black smoke, rising and every increasing in diametre. His heart sunk. He knew that it came from the same direction as their meeting place.

"Oh no, Isha!" he shouted abruptly, bursting into a run as he headed back along the path he previously went down.

Minute after painful minute rolled by, and his legs burned almost as much as the heat of the air did to his exposed skin, growing with each passing step. The glow of flames was impossible to escape even if he was a hundred metres away from the conflagration, and he charged into the heart of it.

"Isha! Are you here?" he shouted at the top of his lungs as he fought for air in the oxygen-starved environment. The smoke and heat was stifling, but still he forced himself on, shielding his face with his arm. "Isha!"

He swallowed hard, gazing at the volcanic mound that still spewed lava out of its maw, though only tiny trickles compared to its former glory. The isle had been volcanic for quite some time, and every now and then there was an eruption, but nothing like this was in the history books. It was not natural, and he knew that only a Mars Adept could control such a thing. Could it be that Isha caused this?

Something else caught his eye, a faint green object lying in the midst of the raging inferno, and his eyes narrowed.

"ISHA!" he shouted before hearing the snap of wood above him, looking up, and sidestepping. A burning branch smashed itself into the ground and shattered, leaving flaming bits everywhere, including his pant leg, but to his luck it did not catch on fire. He shouted her name again and ran up to her side, but he did not expect to find her like this.

His lip quivered and his legs partially gave way, and he kneeled down in far greater pain than ever before. Knives, blood, death—all three rattled in his mind in the worst of ways, and he broke out into a fit of sobs as he loomed over her.

"Wolf-ie . . . flee . . ." he heard beneath him in a broken whisper, hardly audible in the crackling of the flames.

His eyes shot open to see her amethyst eyes staring at him and her lips curve into a small frown, blood trickling from the sides. He wanted to hug her tightly, he was so glad to see that she was alive, but the burning environs reminded him that time was of the essence.

"Isha, don't speak . . . I'm going to get you out of here!" he whispered back through sniffles.

She shook her head infinitesimally and closed her eyes to swallow what blood had collected in her mouth.

"It's . . . too late for me . . . I'm going to die. . . ."

"D-don't say that!" Wolfe shouted, the tears trickling down his face evaporating before they even reached his mouth. "I'll get you out of here! I'll get the Great Healer to revive you! Just don't give up!"

"I'm sorry . . . I'm so sorry . . . but I don't know. . . . Give me your hands. . . ."

He did so, her weak and limp hands wrapped in his own. She gave him a light squeeze and smiled.

"My gift . . . to you, Wolfe . . ." she uttered softly, emitting a glow from her right hand. Wolfe glanced over to it in confusion, but the light died off before he could know what it was. They locked eyes again, and he noticed that she smiled. "I can only hope . . . that you will never . . . forget me . . . as I won't you."

"I-Ish . . . you know I could never forget you. You'll make it . . . you _have_ to make it!"

"Then please hurry. . . . I don't want to . . . follow Mother just yet. . . ."

Her eyes slowly shut, and her grip faded so that her hands slipped out of his. Wolfe worried at first, but when he saw her chest rise and fall still he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She was alive. Isha was alive.

Slowly, carefully, he lifted her out of the puddle and headed back where he came with her in his arms, running as fast as his legs could carry them both. The flames had spread further, devouring every deciduous tree it could reach, before halting at the thick and lush pines, a bulwark against the touch of flame. Wolfe choked viciously on the thick, hot smoke, but eventually passed underneath the pines and out from underneath the burning canopy.

"Stay with me, Isha. Stay with me," he huffed as he continued. She looked so peaceful, lying in his arms with an infinitely small happy expression on her face. How she could look like that when she was bleeding to death was beyond him.

The rain started to pour and drenched everything with woe, yet Wolfe kept running, urging himself on through the curtain of water.

* * *

"For Mani's sake, Healer, open the door!" Wolfe cried out, pounding on the Sanctum entrance with kicks that resounded throughout the street. "Open the door! I've wounded out here!"

Shuffling could be heard from the other side, and the double doors of the Sanctum burst open to reveal its well-lit interior and numerous bearded faces. Each and every one of them stared down into his arms in shock, and a few beckoned him in at all speed to lay her down. He was only too glad to comply, and the door closed behind him with a snap.

"Wake the Great Healer," one of the Healers commanded an associate. "We need a Revival, and fast! My gosh, what blood . . . !"

"I'm on it!" the latter shouted, rushing off to the back of the room.

Wolfe's head swam as so many people beckoned him to a freshly laid-out bed on the floor, but he managed to get Isha onto it speedily. She was drenched, with water as well as blood. Her face was corpselike, without colour anywhere except for the stains of blood on her throat and mouth, and her eyes, still closed, quivered even as she laid down, the pain lancing through her body unbearable. She had to bear through with it, however; removing the blades risked causing a secondary hemorrhage. Both Wolfe and the many Healers knew that much.

The Great Healer soon came, a wizened old prune of a man with unfathomable eyes and grey hair strewn over his visage in long patches. The others made way for him as he approached, but only Wolfe stayed with her, holding her cold hand in his own with a dreading expression on his face. The master cleric set his hand on the youth's shoulder and bent over.

"I'm sorry," he uttered into Wolfe's ear, "but you must step away for now. There's no telling what would happen if I do this on someone as . . . healthy as you."

Wolfe looked up at the elderly Healer and grudgingly nodded, seating himself on one of the stump-like chairs provided in the room. The man looked her over with his steel grey eyes, assessing where the damage was most.

"Her neck and shoulder are pierced," he blurted speedily, not wanting a second of idleness to pass by.

The cleric looked over to him, nodded his thanks, and bent down over Isha with his hands outstretched over her core. Wolfe felt helpless, unable to do a thing but watch and worry while Isha lay not even ten feet away from him. He felt the sticky blood on his hands and prayed that all would work out well, that everything would be all right.

A warm hazel light glowed from the man's palm, and a sensation of renewal flooded through the air. Wolfe thought he smelled fresh spring grass for an instant, followed by sight of spring buds from a dormant branch, but those were just illusions, chemical senses that he got whenever someone used strange and impossible power. He felt it so crisply and so clearly when so many others could not, and he wondered what each of the Healers experienced. Did they see it too?

The light ceased not soon after, and Wolfe wondered what was happening. The knives were still in her, and not even the wound in her shoulder disappeared behind a veil of scar tissue. The Healer looked up at him and shook his head, whilst the young man's heart immediately dropped.

"I'm sorry . . ." the older man murmured. "She has passed beyond even my reach."

"Y-you can't mean that . . . that . . ."

Silence fell as lead would, and so did his innermost soul when the Healer nodded. Wolfe gripped the sides of his head in terrible pain, and tears trickled down his face like rain off a roof. Isha, his best friend, was gone, and so was a large part of him.

* * *

The late afternoon sun peered through the western window in muted tones through the stained glass, yet everything seemed to lose its colour. The different bell from the Sanctum filled the air with its long tolls for a quarter of an hour, yet each note struck Wolfe like a tossed rock every time.

He questioned himself the eternal question of why it came to this and why he had to bear through not only the death of his parents but his friend as well, but not an answer came.

Isha lay atop a hammock that the Healers had provided, clean and without any sign of injury except the darker scars on her neck and shoulder. Palmaria's Healers took good care of the deceased before sea burial, healing every bit of damaged tissue to the best of their ability and washing away what grime they had on them. He was thankful for that, as well as for the personal time they had given him to pass on his last words, even if it were to an empty shell.

"Hey, Isha . . ." he started out, holding her hand warmly and attempting to keep his voice calm, though failing to do so. "I'm . . . I wish . . . that I could switch places with you. . . . You were better at me than anything, and had so much more to live up to than a simpleton like myself. . . ."

Fresh tears, sparkling like polished silver in the low light, trekked down his face and onto the awaiting ground. His grip on her limp, fragile fingers faltered before it rallied again like an indecisive soldier.

"Never again will I see your beautiful smile or eyes . . ." he whispered painfully. "Never again will I hear you speak or laugh at something I do. If I were only faster or strong enough to save you, we both would be alive and well . . . you alive and I well. All I could say for now is . . . goodbye. You were the best friend I could ever ask for. . . . Thank you . . . and I pray that I'll see you again in the clouds someday."

Giving her hand one last squeeze, he lifted himself up from her side and exited the Sanctum doors. Not a single glance was cast at the expressions of the Healers outside or even at the people in the street as they tried to see or hear what was going on. Wolfe simply walked on, his face downcast and focused on the puddles beneath him.

* * *

The manor slipped into view as he passed along the taller knolls that led north of town. He took his time getting back, the sun just barely setting and casting a crimson glow in the sky, and the world appeared to be painted in dark hues of black and red. The wind whispered to him the entire time even as cold crept onto and over the shores of the isle, promising that things were going to be okay even though Isha was no longer around, but he ignored its faint attempts of calming him with an angry slam of the front door.

The loud noise was refreshing to him as it reverberated through his ears, relieving his mind with a well-needed distraction and bringing a small, bittersweet smile on his face. He felt sorry for shutting the wind out with a bang, but he just needed some time to himself and not listening to its murmurs on his eardrum.

"Slamming the door like you own the place, are we?" he heard from his left, and he peered over to find Avvie's father staring at him with a glowering expression.

"I'm sorry . . ." Wolfe spoke, peering down to his boots to pull them off.

"Sorry wouldn't cut it if you broke the door," the father continued. "See that it won't happen again."

"It won't."

"It won't, what? You're forgetting something."

"It won't, _sir_!" Wolfe shouted, his anger betraying itself a little too well as he tossed a glare at the man.

"Know your place, Timbre . . ." the older man warned in a low rumble, "else you'll be sleeping for nights on end in the stream out back."

Something in Wolfe's mind snapped, and rage burned a flush over his face as he searched for anything to say, and yet he could not find the words. No, that was not it; it was something else that he could not figure out at the moment. He resigned his efforts and sighed, his face clearing of a fraction of his previous fury.

"Sorry," he uttered firmly, turning his head away toward the stairwell and heading towards it. He was stopped by a thick hand on his shoulder.

"That's not all I wanted to talk about," he heard the father say behind him, the grip on his shoulder tightening enough for Wolfe to let out a cry of pain. "How about that little _friend_ of yours, this Isha?"

The young man's heart drummed faster in his chest as the anger was summoned back, and once again he struggled to restrain his tongue.

"Father, would you stop pestering him?" Av's voice called out from the top of the stairwell, and both turned to face her. Wolfe was shocked to see that she was in different clothes than she was garbed in this morning, but it made sense concerning the rain. She gazed down toward her kin with a frown and continued: "He's had a bad day . . . we both know this."

"I told you to stay in your room, Avdotya. Go back inside. Now."

"I-I will not! Not unless you promise you won't hurt him! He's had enough pain already!" she cried out, trembling like a leaf.

Wolfe spotted a small rivulet of blood flowing down the side of her lip as she bit down upon it. This was the first time she spoke out so openly against her father, and he was both happy and horrified by that.

"Hnh . . ." the muscular figure grunted, letting go of the youth's shoulder and folding his arms. "If it means you'll leave it between the two of us, I won't lay a hand on him. Now go and do not come back out until I say so. We'll talk later."

"Okay . . . but if I hear anything out of place I swear you'll regret it, Father," she uttered, emitting a stern look before slipping back into her bedroom.

Painful seconds of silence flowed through the room after the door snapped shut, and the two remaining people glared at each other, each with a sense of loathing in their hearts.

"Follow me," the father voiced with a rumble, walking over to the front door and whirling it open with a swoop of his hand before looking back, "and don't take long."

With Avvie two doors and an enormous room away, Wolfe knew that something bad could happen to him without her knowledge by the one man that he feared the most if he stepped outside. The forgiving wind whispered to him of this danger through the portal, warning him to go back inside as if nothing had happened or would happen, but he did not, instead closing the door behind him and turning around to face the choleric fellow.

"What did you take me out here for?" Wolfe uttered, his voice a little too quiet.

The father smirked with an added grunt, folded his arms, and leaned his back against one of the railings on the porch.

"What do you think?" he sneered. "I mentioned it earlier, but I'll say it again. I need information on this girl, Isha. You're friends with her, right? Or were, before this mess happened."

"What reason would you want to know?" Wolfe shouted, his voice pitching from fear to fury. "What interest would she be to you, now that she's dead?"

"Keep your voice down," the father spoke lowly, his grim countenance turning even more so, "unless you wish to have Avdotya know you to be a killer."

"Wh-what?" Wolfe uttered in disbelief and anger. "You honestly think that I would kill her?"

"It seems my warnings continue to go unheeded," the man sighed gruffly, no longer leaning on the balustrade and instead fixating his eyes on the youth in front of him.

"Have you absolutely no faith in me at all? You're my adopted father!"

"_Grudgingly_ adopted father! When I first laid my eyes on you, you were weak, pathetic, and groveling, and look at you now. You're the same as you were before, no matter how much I tried to change you, but now you're a cold killer. The evidence is profoundly against you."

"N-now see here!"

"No, you see here! The Healers told me you confessed you were in the forest with her, and everyone saw that the forest we had maintained for centuries upon centuries aflame in your wake! There are no highwaymen or bandits here—I made sure of that—and no one would be disgruntled with her when the ferry ticket is four days old except a past acquaintance, namely yourself."

"Me?" Wolfe shrieked, his body quivering in rage. "I killed her? I would sooner kill myself than anyone else, _especially_ her! She was, is, and always will be my best friend!"

"Somehow, I doubt that," Avvie's father continued, unfazed by Wolfe's reaction. "I see it in your gaze, the murderous embers of villainy, death, and deceit. There is nothing good in those sockets of yours, and the only thing that's keeping me from ripping their contents out and executing you on the spot is my daughter."

Wolfe stepped back, drawing his arm up defensively. He could not believe what he was hearing. This man, his adopted father, openly accused him of murdering his best friend and being evil to the core.

His back touched the wooden side of the house on the third step, and before he could react the man pinned him against it from shoulder to shoulder with a thick, brawny arm. Wolfe let out a cry of pain as the pressure increased on his clavicle, threatening to snap it in two. The man in front of him grunted and relieved pressure, but only enough for the restrained to speak.

"Listen closely," the father whispered, "to what I am going to tell you. Lay a hand on my daughter in any form and you will seal your fate as a dead man. Is that clear?"

Wolfe remained silent and turned his head away in shame and anger before letting out another cry as the pressure increased once more. The man's lips drew closer to his ear, stretched over ivory teeth that gleamed purple in the crystal light of the walkway, and the predatory eyes gazed down on him. He could not help but lock his gaze on them.

"Is that clear?" the father demanded, the noxious odour of garlic and fish entering his nostrils. The pressure did not let up, and Wolfe had to answer.

"It's clear, Sol-take-it!" He spoke hastier and more pitched than he had wished, but the pressure decreased on his body all the same as the man drew away.

"That is good," the father responded with a satisfied smirk. "Go back to your room, Timbre, and remember these words well."

Wolfe did so without an additional word, even though his tongue desired nothing more than to create a train of invectives at the man. Thoughts of all the good and bad things that happened only made things worse, hitting him like a brick upon recollection, but even though he tried to shut them out he found it impossible. His dearest friend was murdered, and he was the falsely accused; that was that, and there was no escaping the pit that he was dragged into.

The urge to slam his door was difficult to resist, and he flung himself onto the bed without undressing, questioning for what reason the evils that had been thrust on him and Isha had occurred. It wasn't long before he passed out with eyelids like lead, tired, confused, and lost in the agony that this day had wrought.

* * *

**Author's Note: To all of those that wished for a happy conclusion, sorry. Isha was always one of my favourite characters, and I went through as much turmoil as Wolfe when she died. As for the father, what a guy, huh? Please review and critique; I am always open to suggestions that will help this story out.**


	5. Chapter 5:  The Folded Letter

_**Ravaged Bonds Chapter 5: The Folded Letter  
**_

_"Dreams hold no revenue for those who had their spirits shattered more than once."_

_–Arnaud, the Wandering Prophet of Lemuria_

* * *

The morning bells chimed in all their splendour, waking Avvie once more from her sleep and inducing a prolonged groan from her throat. The brightness of the room pained her red, exposed eyes, and she snapped them shut before propping herself up.

"I'm coming, I'm coming . . ." she yawned groggily, shaking her head as if to rattle the sleep from her ears.

Begrudgingly, she stepped out of bed and stretched out her limbs, not at all desirous to start the day, especially after spending most of the night awake fretting about something. She could not remember exactly what it was, but with a shrug from her bony shoulders she dismissed it for a later time.

Gliding over to the dresser, something met her eyes on atop it that assuredly was not there last night, and she tilted her head sleepily in befuddlement. It was a small piece of paper, folded down the middle and lying facedown on the wooden surface with her hairbrush on top. Still lethargic, her mind wondered who had entered her room so late at night and for what reason. The door was locked, so the only way to get in was through the—

Her eyes snapped open and flew over to the window, expecting to find it closed and instead finding the opposite. A soft breeze blew through the open space, toying with the milky curtains and tossing them up and down, and the morning sun poured fresh sunbeams onto the pine floor.

How did someone come in without her noticing, and why did that same someone put a note on her dresser? There was only one way to find out, she concluded, as she stepped over, flipped the note right-side-up, and read its contents:

"_Sis,_

"_I don't know what your father has told you, but I am sure that he thinks of me as a killer of friends. I am writing to you because I wish to tell you, and only you, that he may be right._

"_I said something that made Isha upset, and when she ran into the forest somebody murdered her in cold blood. I was with her before all of this mess happened, but I never meant for any of this to happen! I only wanted what was best for each of us, and now it is all gone. She is gone, and there is nothing that I can do to make things go back to the way things were._

"_However, just because I can't do that be doesn't excuse me from laying out justice on the murderer. I will explain what I mean, but not here. Not on this note._

"_Please come outside. I will be by the maple where you showed me that buttermoth you loved so much when we were little._

—_Wolfe"_

Avdotya sat on the edge of her bed, having completed her pace around the room as she reading the letter. She glanced over it several more times before rocketing to her feet and slipping into some more modest clothing. If Wolfe was planning on doing something drastic, she was going to stop him as soon as possible.

* * *

Av rushed through the door, much to her parents' consternation when she passed by without a glance or a word. She didn't even step into her shoes in her hurry, instead running barefoot down the wooden planks of the covered porch and onto the smooth, wet grass that had not yet dried in the morning heat.

With a whirl around the far corner of the north wing, she entered the old orchard grove where her father and she sparred with training blades frequently. It was a quiet place, free from the consternation of lumberjacks that headed out into the forest with oxen-led wagons or the meaningless chatter between tourists and their guides. Only the occasional chirp of a pair of songbirds reached her ears, whistling their merry tune in the tree boughs after having feasted on a berry breakfast.

In the distance she saw Wolfe, in the open area where the maple was, the place somewhat similar to where they always picked dove-tail lilies together. The tree's dead, crunchy leaves blew uselessly in the warm breeze, clinging to the gnarled boughs and wasted twigs that had stood the test of time, but they at least offered a decent enough shade for summer days such as this one. For an instant she could recall the times when she was little, each one of them a different adventure altogether. It was in the grove that she had first met him, that they played together until they moved on to different locations. She was surprised that he wanted to meet out here again, after the several years that had passed by.

His back was facing her, and his head was arced downward as if he were staring at something in decision. Her heart gave a slight leap, immediately jumping to the conclusion that he had a knife in his hands and was pondering the most drastic action she could think of. Biting her lip, she ran towards him with all of her might, calling out his name fearfully.

He turned his head first before the rest of his body followed suit, and Avvie's eyes immediately darted to his hands. She sighed in partial relief as she spotted nothing in particular in them, but when she met his gaze she knew that Wolfe was hiding something.

"Oh, hey, Av. I didn't expect you to get out here so soon," he uttered, his voice so low that she could hardly make it out over the persistent songbird which piped its merry tune nearby.

"You mean you didn't expect me to jump clean out of my skin _and_ get out here so soon, right?" she countered as she stopped a few paces away, her eyebrows furrowed deep into her forehead. "You made me worry, Wolfe!"

"Worry . . . ?" His voice was irritatingly emotionless, and she almost let all of her rage out.

"This letter?" she bellowed, taking out the crumpled note that she put in her blouse pocket and shoving it in his face. "You said that you were the killer and that you would 'lay out justice' on Isha's murderer. Well, I'm not going to let you do that. I'm—I'm not going to let you kill yourself!"

"I never intended to do so in the first place, Sis," he spoke, passively removing the letter from between them. "I probably would have ended it without you knowing if I did."

His words came as a shock to her, so much so that she left the scrap of paper in Wolfe's fingers and scanned his countenance for insight. Everything told her that he was telling the truth about his statement; his nostrils did not flare, his eyes did not cease to blink, and the tips of his ears, jutting out from his unkempt and matted hair, did not burn red.

"I-idiot! So you have thought about it! I should—"

"Would you please stop trying to accuse me and listen to what I have to say?" Wolfe inquired, his voice surprisingly calm and collected compared to hers.

She blinked in bemusement before emitting a shrug. He laughed a single, wan note in response and continued.

"Thanks, Av. Anyway, what I was going to tell you . . . was this: I can't stand aside and do nothing. Everyone here thinks that I was the one that stuck the knives in her throat—everyone—but I swear that I didn't do it. I brought her back to the Sanctum. I heard her give her . . . her final words to me. I stayed by her side all that time before she . . . she . . ."

Avdotya stared on helplessly as Wolfe broke down, tears building in his eyes as he without a doubt recalled yesterday's events. She had been told by her father that she was forbidden to come in contact with him and that Wolfe was a hardened and murderous criminal, but she knew better. She knew that he was neither of the two last night when her father told her of Wolfe's "murderous intent", but if that was so why did she think he would kill himself?

Before she could come up with an answer she swept her arms around him and hugged him tightly, disregarding everything her father had said. She was surprised that her body reacted without her telling it to, and yet she was glad of it.

Wolfe calmed himself down after a while, his sobs getting lighter and lighter as time flew by. When he reached up to gather the moisture in his eyes, she let go and watched sombrely to his side.

"T-thanks, Sis . . ." he uttered with a sniffle, smiling wanly over to her before glancing away.

"Hey, what are big sisters for?" she responded with a warm smile of her own that dropped off soon after. "Listen, Wolfe, that's twice you said that you were going to do something. What are you planning?"

A frown shifted his features when he stared at her disconcertingly.

"You really haven't figured it out yet? Or is it that you don't really want to know?"

Avvie's eyes narrowed into pinpricks.

"Y-you can't mean that you're going to kill . . . !" She could not finish her statement, but she did not have to. When she saw his eyes dart downward she knew that he indeed meant it. She did not readily admit it. Her brother never had the desire to hurt anyone previously other than in play, not even her father when he said the most repulsive things to her adoptive brother. Something changed inside of him, and that left her shocked and terrified. "Wolfe . . . please tell me that this isn't true, that none of this is true. I . . . I need to hear you say it," she pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Av . . . I just can't. Isha is dead, and her murderer is still out there. I made up my mind, and I intend to follow it until that monster dies by these hands of mine."

"But you don't have a weapon! No sword, no shield, nothing!"

"I may not have one of those things or . . . proficient enough to use them, but I do have something I _could _use."

She watched bemusedly as he stepped back a few paces and halted a fair distance away, a hand outstretched with each digit facing inward. The very air shifted as a refreshing gust of wind fluttered over and around them, and the low chant in Wolfe's voice could be heard through the soft whispers of the passing air. The sensation was soft, almost healing, but that was hardly comforting her in the slightest.

"You . . . you're an Adept . . ." she squeaked, shuffling away and nearly falling over herself.

He nodded in response and released whatever ability he had used earlier with a casual wave of his hand.

"How long . . . ? How long have you kept this a secret from me?"

With a mild frown, Wolfe responded: "Just a few short months. I wanted to tell you for a while now, but I didn't know how you would handle it."

It took effort for Av to nod. Adepts were not the most popular people on the Isles ever since Mercury pirates had taken over the village. History lessons had told her of their villainies, but when Palmaria accepted aid from the cursed Northern clans to remove the pirates the Isles had learned of a harsher master. Most of the archipelago dwellers resented Adepts of any kind and passed on their odium to their children. When she thought about it, Isha was lucky to avoid the popular scourge, but she could not piece together how. Also, if Wolfe was found out to be an Adept by just anyone, there was no telling what would happen.

Silently, she accepted why it took him so long to tell her, though there was only one question rattling in her head, one that she voiced: "But why did you tell me now . . . ?"

"Why now?" repeated Wolfe along with a dry laugh. "Well, I just thought that I could trust you with anything now. Was I wrong to?"

"O-of course not! I'm happy to hear that you trust me, but it's just so . . . unexpected. I mean, my brother the Adept."

Wolfe smiled in a way that she felt she had not seen in ages before it disappeared into his melancholic and sober self again. It was painful for her to see him in such a state, and yet she could not figure out what to do or say to him to snap him out of it. She thought that maybe time would do him some good, but that was impossible. He was set on killing the one responsible for all his pain, and somehow, deep in the recesses of her mind, she felt the same way. If it would bring her old brother back, she too would probably run the villain through if she had the chance.

"Wolfe, do you mind if I stay with you for a bit?" she spoke up after a brief yet unnerving silence. "I . . . we don't have to talk about anything if you don't want to, but if you do. . . ." She finished the sentence with a false shrug of indifference for whichever choice he made, though it was obvious which she wanted to do so.

His eyes closed for a short lapse of time, almost as if he were concentrating on something else entirely at that moment, before he nodded.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind your company, but I should warn you that I'm going to test myself in the meantime. It's scary to see the first time, or at least it was for me."

"I'm sure I could handle it," she spoke, giving him a slug on his shoulder. I'm hardy, same as you."

He smiled again and offered her a seat on the grass, which she gladly took until she noticed it was still wet. Her face must have been priceless to induce a laugh from him, but he sat down as well several paces away.

"This is what I meant to show you. Granted, I have not perfected it yet, but here it is."

Avdotya tilted her head as he held gripped his forearm with his other and held it outstretched once more. A swirl of motion arrested her attention as a churning cone of wind lay just above his hand, getting larger and larger as his muscles tensed. From top to tail the Whirlwind was about the size of a fully grown man, and the air around her hummed powerfully.

Just as soon as her mind got accustomed to its presence the miniature tornado disbanded, the strong wisps dissipating into nothingness. Wolfe exhaled a lungful of air and smiled, the faint sheen of perspiration on his forehead.

"Incredible . . ." she uttered under her breath, unable to say anything else. She had seen magic like this before in the Festival of Gales the town had every few years, but smaller and more contained. Though it was impressive back then, it was more so coming from her kid brother.

"You like it then, huh?" Wolfe laughed, scratching his ear as if he were nervous. "If I'm still new at this, I wonder how incredible it will be when I master it."

"Well, I hope not _too_ incredible," she teased. "I don't want my little brother getting better just to get a swollen head."

He laughed at this as well, and they talked with each other for many minutes, trading questions and answers at an increasingly leisurely pace. Though the guilt of his friend dying still gnawed at him, he came further and further out of his shell, and that bought them both waves of relief; however, she realised such relief would not bring peace for long, and she edged herself on to question something that took most of her will to utter: "Wolfe, I need to ask . . . is revenge really the only thing to do?"

His control slipped on the tiny whirlwind in his hand as his concentration was broken, and the swirling air dissipated when he darted his eyes up to her.

"Of course it is," he spoke, his tone dwindling from contented to irate. "I can't let him get away with this."

"But you could be killed in the process . . . I don't want you to die, not when you have a life ahead of you."

"That's the thing, Av; I _don't_ have a life ahead of me. Maurus made that clear enough when he looked at me. He believes me to be the one who thrust the knife in Isha! He said he would have executed me on the spot if it weren't for you, and when you are married off and gone, I'm sure I would suffer an 'accident' or be executed on the chop block." He smiled vehemently when he saw her face twist, but it only lasted for a fraction of a moment before he was fully serious again. "No, I need to find this evil man and bring justice to him. It's the only way for Isha to be at peace!"

She winced at each and every word, chiefly at the vehemence when he thrust out her father's name. Wolfe never called him that until now, so what changed within him? Was it that he had been consumed by revenge, or did something worse happen to him? Her hands clamped down hard on her knees at the thought before shutting it out for another.

"Is this all truly for Isha to be at peace or yourself, brother . . . ?" she queried sagaciously, keeping her voice as steady as possible.

He laughed without humour, speaking: "Would it be wrong to say it's both? She needs to be avenged, and I want her to be happy, wherever she is now. Even if I cross all of Weyard and back to do so, I will find him, kill him, and finally get on with my life. It's that simple."

She nodded hesitantly and summoned the courage to look down. Wolfe had changed. Her grip on her exposed knees waned, leaving red marks where her nails had clamped into her skin when she removed her hands, but she did not care. She knew what to say.

"Then let me aid you."

Their amber eyes met in striking difference, hers soft and his hard, yet in her brother's shifting gaze she noticed uncertainty and fear.

"You don't believe what I am saying, Wolfe?" she continued, leaning forward and pressing her hands into the grass for support. "I truly mean it."

He shook his head morosely.

"Avvie, do you even have the strength to kill somebody? You've the manners of a noblewoman. All those warnings you told me about from—"

"My father has shed so much blood I don't think he believes those warnings himself," she countered, shaking her head. "All I really want is for you to continue being my brother, though the best and worst of occasions . . . and if nothing else would work, I'll do even that!"

He looked at her for a time, not a noise forming between them until the songbird chipped overhead and broke the dreadful silence. He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and index before he ascended to his feet. She followed him upright.

"I never wanted to involve you in this, Av. To tell you, yes, but not have you involved in anything dangerous. However . . . I'd never turn down whatever help someone is willing to offer, especially my sister."

Her heart soared up to her throat, and she ran across the distance to pull Wolfe into a tight bear hug. Perhaps it was a bit too tight, considering that he inhaled sharply after it was done. She grinned sheepishly as a result.

"So what now? What's your course of action?" she asked.

He made a face and responded, "Um, I'm not quite sure yet."

"Wolfe!"

"Hey, I didn't have _that_ much time to plan," he replied defensively.

"Well then, how much do you have to build off from? Any evidence?"

"Just a few unmarked knives . . ." he replied with a mild shrug. "The place where it happened is burnt to a crisp too. Nothing strange there besides the lava vent and streams of new rock."

"That's it? Not much to step off from. . . ."

"That's part of the reason why I am bettering my magic," agreed Wolfe with a single nod. "I heard some people that can move wind like me could read minds, but . . . I don't think it's possible for me yet. I've tried so hard at times just to read the minds of animals, my head felt like it could split in two."

"Promise me you won't overexert yourself like that anymore!" she urged, concern awash over her features. "You'd fall apart by the seams if you keep doing that!"

"Easy now, Sis," he chuckled, "I built up a tolerance to it. Stress brings out the best in me, sometimes. Guess how I learned these two spells I showed you."

"Well . . . I hope you'll figure something out in time," she spoke heavily with an added sigh, glancing back at the stone walls of the manor in the distance. "Our parents are probably wondering where we are, don't you think? It's well past breakfast too, now that I think about it. You're not hungry or anything, are you?"

"I'm fine, Av . . . really. Just stop worrying for me, all right?"

"Sure . . . but I'm going to get you something when I get back. I don't think you've eaten since yesterday morning, after all. How could you live without food that long?" She stared at him harshly for a few seconds, but when he appeared to stare off into the distance and did not answer she shook her head. "So you'll be around here, yeah?" she continued, speaking louder this time.

"Huh? Oh, sure, I'll be around," he answered as if startled. "Also, if anyone asks, tell them that my chores were done."

She nodded and turned back toward the house, walking off with a false mien of composure. These recent revelations brought a sense of fear for her younger brother that she had never had before and generated a duality that ravaged her; part of her wished to remain ignorant of everything that was going on, and the other desired to keep aware.

"Wolfe . . . I wonder what is going in that head of yours," she whispered as if to herself, risking a glance back before revolving a second time around the house.

* * *

She returned an few hours later when the sun was near its zenith, and the only ways to escape the midday heat were to be under the slivers of shade of trees and buildings or having the infrequent, scanty sea cloud pass overhead, granting a sparse few seconds of alleviation before the light rebuilt itself to its former glory.

Av felt the urge to wipe the sweat from her brow more than once along the way, but managed to resist, if only for the tray carrying with a ceramic cup of ice water and a serving of eggplant parmesan on a porcelain plate. It was definitely one of the hottest days yet in the summer, and still climbing higher up the thermometer. She wondered how Wolfe was taking the heat, having stayed in the grove, but she knew he would find a way to keep out of the most of it.

True to her expectations, he was in the same location performing something with his wind magic, though she was surprised to see how much effort he was putting into something neither could see. He had turned a deep shade of red, his eyes were fixed shut, and the muscles in his arms, even from the distance, were so tense that they looked like appendages of a statue. The very air that whirled around him felt thick and unsettling, and the moment she stepped closer it reminded her of the inside of a furnace. Was it raw rage she felt? Guilt? She could not say, but she stepped in front of him anyway.

"Wolfe . . . I brought you something," she uttered, though hardly loud enough to hear herself over the wind.

The wind ceased, along with its inner tension, as he opened his eyes and relieved his muscles, though only barely. A tiny flicker of a tired smile emerged as he glanced down at her hands and took in their contents.

"Oh, thanks, Avvie," he spoke with the twang of happiness, though his voice remained nearly as solemn as it used to be. "You didn't have to do this for me, you know. . . ."

"Of course I do," she responded, "but we both know full well how you take care of yourself. Now come on, drink up. You look exhausted."

The smile grew longer at the thought, but he shrugged and gently pushed the tray away when she proffered it.

"I'll get to it later, I promise. I'm on the verge of figuring something out; I could feel it! If I could just . . ."

He fell and nearly spilled the contents of the tray as exhaustion brought him to his knees. His breath was laboured and fast-paced.

"B-brother!" she sputtered frantically, roughly placing the tray onto the ground and stooping to brace him upright. "Enough of this foolishness! You're tearing yourself apart!"

"Just one more . . . I feel it in my bones, Av."

"You'll be nothing _but_ bones if you keep this up!" she shouted at him, grabbing the cup of water and holding it in front of him. "Here, drink this! I'm not playing around anymore, Wolfe, and neither should you!"

She had to press the cup against his lips before he consented to her command, raising a hand to tilt the earthenware and sipping the cool water. Avdotya watched him down half of the draught before she turned it back upright when he started to choke, probably from drinking too fast. Taking it away, she swiveled her index finger around the cup, gathered the condensation on the outer surface, and placed it on his forehead.

"You are the most stubborn mule of a person I ever met, you know that?" she chided. "It only takes a near-death experience to get the least bit of sense into you. My gosh, you're burning up. . . ."

He laughed harshly as he cleared the water from his throat.

"Hey, I'm me. I know myself best of all," he uttered in a wry undertone, tossing a loose grin before relapsing into a frown. "Um, thanks, Av . . . but—"

"Save it." She removed her finger and scowled. "I don't want to argue with you anymore. Continue with your stupid training if you wish, but understand that if you pass out or die in this heat I'll never forgive you!"

As much as she wished to pour its contents on his face, she placed the cup back onto the tray and walked off, empty-handed except for the angry thoughts that swirled inside her like a swarm of hornets. Did Wolfe even now not see that she, the older sister, wanted to protect him, and that it pained her to see him behave like this? Was he so blind and stupid and—?

"Sister . . ." she heard behind her, and she whirled around.

"What is it, Wolfe?" she snapped, the full concentration of her glare bearing down on him.

His eyes dropped to the ground as he straightened upright, and it took a few seconds for him to form an answer.

"I'm sorry . . . I didn't know you felt so hotly about this."

"Wolfe, we've been close for so long. How could you not see that there are people that care for your safety, that _I_ care for your safety?"

Tears came bitterly and burned her eyes as she walked off in a huff, and behind her she heard nothing but perfect silence. No songbird called out in this heat, nor did she hear the nearby stream gurgle, nor did her brother call out to stop her further, and that silence hurt her more than any injury she recalled.

* * *

**Author's Note: To those of you who haven't played the third installment of the Golden Sun series, Wolfe used the Fresh Breeze and Whirlwind Psynergies, if it wasn't clear enough. Anyway, thank you for reading, and I hope you stick around for my upcoming sixth chapter. Ciao!**


	6. Chapter 6:  The Unknown

**Author's Note****:** **I apologise to my readers for my recent disappearance (and the name change); school has been affecting me for some time, as has a writer's cramp. I hope this chapter reinforced with titanium words will make it up to you. I wish happy holidays to those who celebrate Christmas and Kwanzaa and other festive days, and say a loud, resounding "BOO!" to the others. Just kidding about the latter.**

* * *

_**Ravaged Bonds Chapter 6: The Unknown**_

_Fear, the plague which held sway over humanity for so many years, still exists even now. Many fears there are, but none worse than that of the unknown._

_ –Arnaud, the Wandering Prophet of Lemuria._

* * *

When he stepped through the familiar double doors of the island tavern, Wolfe only felt worse. The abrupt end to the conversation with his sister weighed that much heavier on his aching mind, and the wind had stopped talking to him as well. This was the only place he could think of to find solace, to find a source of comfort.

The reek of unwashed patrons coupled with aged and impure barley offended his nostrils, but in he went all the same, finding himself at the same table he had sat at with Isha half a minute later. Time seemed to fleet by on a waking wind to him, yet everything was the same as a few days ago. All but one, he corrected himself solemnly.

His inner eye darted from scene to scene as he remembered his beloved friend. He recalled the forced introductions of their first dinner meet between their parents, the days when they endlessly played together, the very last race they had underneath the Granddaddy Apple, and shortly after the first time they clasped hands. A wan smile slipped into existence, but when he reached out to touch her child-like hands once more his world shattered like the thinnest of glass only to find that she was not there. Tears flowed anew when he thought none were left, and silent sobs shook his body like a series of lachrymose hiccups.

The clanks of tankards ceased to stand out to his ears and were replaced by quiet whispers.

"That kid cryin'?" "Must have had a rough day." "Fool kid shouldn't be in a public house. What'll his parents think of him?" "D'ya think he's one of those tourist idiots?" "Shush, Jorl . . . that's _him_. That's the murderer they're—"

Each comment fueled the stinging sensation Wolfe felt like a growing burn, but the last was too much to tolerate. Tears stoppered and brow furrowed, he cast a stare toward the final speakers that forbade them from continuing. The stare worked, apparently, for the two recoiled back to their tankards.

Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, he pondered as to why he bothered coming to town. It wasn't to get drunk, especially since he was underage, nor was it to be infuriated by an instilled rumour that might have a speck of truth to it. But what was it? Where was the solace he hoped to find in this pockmark of the world?

The familiar sound of chattering drops and amusement in the far corner of the inn answered his question. Lucky Dice, the betting game requiring raw luck, a clever hand, and frugality over a long run, was playing in the small gambling alcove in the furthest section of the inn.

A small smile revealed itself on the young man's face. Where many had lost more than they gained, Wolfe won more than he lost. Surely it would not be so terrible to play a few rounds to take his mind off of things and win some extra money on the side?

He shook his head in indecision. He greatly wanted—no, he needed—a way to escape the world's cold reality, but was gambling the only way to satisfy the craving? Avdotya had already reprimanded him on his habit, considering gambling a tempered trap, and should she realise that he was betting coin after coin in a tavern she would surely think of him worse.

But, he recalled, she was not here. There was no way she would catch him in the act, and what she did not know would not hurt her, according to the ancient saying. If it would take his brain away, numb the terrible pain wrought by the past week's events, is the lesser of two evils not obvious?

Determined, he rose from his dust-laden seat on the floor, walked past the loud-mouthed patrons, and headed for the dice table, eager to place a bet with like-minded individuals. Or ten. Or a hundred. For the first time in his week, the day will end well; of that, he was certain.

* * *

The lone figure could not tell whether it had opened its eyes in the pitch-black it lay in, all sense of time drained from and suffocated by the blackness of eternal night. There was not a change in the air, not a change in the cold surface that it felt against its naked back, no change whatsoever except the knowledge of its own existence, and that in itself was purely frightening.

Instinct dictated it should move, and so the being did, only to find that a burning sensation lancing through each and every one of its limbs. Further fear encouraged further struggling, so much so that its limbs flailed haphazardly in order to cease the pain, but the efforts were to no avail. Sharp, crude chains wrapped doubly around the wrists and ankles, arresting all movement and greedily drinking blood that oozed from etched flesh.

The figure ceased its attempt of escape shortly after, panting through its nostrils. Thoughts rolled through the void's sole occupant's mind as it looked left and right, searching for any clue as to where it was or how it got here, but nothing could be found to sate its lust for bearings.

Minute by painful minute passed as time crept back into the lightless space, measured with every heartbeat and breath as the creature kept still. Bu-thump, bu-thump, bu-thump. In, out, in. Both series of sounds mesmerized the figure in a place where no other rang out, and both smacked of its mortality. Being restrained meant that something dexterous enough to put it here, and with the very air reeking of recently spilled blood the chances of survival were slim should the creature be a goblin or ogre that hungered for flesh.

Two distinct clops of distant, solid footfalls bounded from one direction to another, increasingly getting closer. The figure listened intently, curiosity overpowering fear. The sounds could be heard through some form of hollow wall to its left, and for the first time since the creature's wake light shown down upon this darkest of cavities.

Eyelids snapped shut in an attempt to cancel the sudden surge of brightness, but the light was impossible to escape without wrenching a neck straight down. Dazed, confused, and furious, the figure let out a cry of anguish.

"Well, what do you know? She's awake early," a nearby voice spoke, so deep it inspired chills up the spine. The additional touch of a gloved hand on the forearm did not help either, and she withdrew from the touch at the expense of her bloodied wrist. "Hey, hey, easy," the voice continued, accompanied by a solemn pause. "She cut herself, the poor girl . . . but that's nothing to worry about. A little Cure will heal this. Where's that fool assistant when you need him? Bah, never mind. Hold still, dear, all right?"

The voice lost its initial chill as words rolled on, and the figure relaxed. Sight returned in small degrees to the point where its eyes could open, ever adjusting to the light. A wiry man with a drooping mustache and a beige overcoat met her eyes, accompanied by dark eyes and hair darker still. It took little longer to discern the other: features as thin as a whipcord, thin nose, a darting green gaze that scanned all over, and short light-blue hair all hardly met her as a pleasant sight and more like a visitation of the Reaper. She wished for the darkness to fall once more, hiding both from sight.

"You make the subject seem like a daughter," huffed the man from behind, his face cold, taciturn, and emotionless. "Don't tell me you're getting softer with every experiment you perform."

"Of course not!" countered the first, inadvertently causing the creature to fearfully slide away from them both. She withheld a cry as chains bit into fragile flesh once more, but the wiry dark-haired man noticed all the same, stroking her cheek lightly with a finger. The touches put her at ease, if only a little. "I take my experiments seriously, unlike those others in the academe. Live patients, dead patients, and those in-between, they each deserve a fair level of respect."

"A scientist with moral bounds fails in the end, doctor. Best you know this before something happens."

The figure read the expressions on the closer man's face, terror followed by anger. She found herself mirroring both, thrusting an glare toward the man with turquoise hair.

"Oh yes, I keep neglecting our guest . . . very bad for first impressions," the man continued sans expression as he looked down at her, eyes always shifting as if he were meticulously scanning. "Well, little doe, do you speak? Or has the good doctor taken that ability from you?"

The figure's features softened with every blink. Speak? She could do that? Looking down at the rest of her body assured that she was like them but somehow different. It may have been that she was not clothed, or that an X-shaped suture did not visibly cross their chests. Horrified, she started to flex her mouth, but what came out was unintelligible.

"Wh- . . . wh- . . ."

"Hush, don't speak. Too high a voice and it will tear your stitches," the doctor cautioned before he rotated. "She is in no condition to be questioned. You must leave. I have healing to do, and you have enough to report to the higher-ups."

An irritable snort emitted from the turquoise-maned man before he exited, a steady beat of footfalls resounding along a stone floor even as he twisted beyond the door. The girl breathed in mild relief. It was just her and this doctor, currently.

"Don't mind him," the remaining man uttered quietly after a moment of silence. "He always has been like that."

"N- . . ."

"Hon, don't talk; I might have to put you out if a suture tears, and neither of us would like that. Now, hold still. I'm going to take these chains off one at a time to heal you, okay?"

She nodded, relaxing her limbs so that they were more comfortable within the cruel chains. He must have tended to her before she awoke, but so little from before that was able to be remembered. Images of long grass running through fingers, next the burning sensation of travelling in boundless scorched sand, next still the beautiful face of a violet flower, then a pair of human faces so fleeting she could hardly tell what they looked like—all useless memories that left no clue as to purpose or former life.

The slinking of the chain from her left hand brought the girl back to the now, ending with a cacophonic rattle of metal on stone. She balled her hand into a fist, then loose, then a fist again. It was relieving to not be hurt just by moving anymore, but the sight of large splotches of crimson blood made her wince and whimper.

"No, don't look at it just yet. It will only make things worse. Close your eyes and count something."

She closed her eyes, but was unable to count. Too little came to mind to do that.

"Attagirl. You're doing great. Now, this may feel strange, but don't panic."

A hand slowly snatched up her arm, but the flow of warmth through the gloves on his fingers was so alien she unfastened her eyes and tried to slip from his grip.

"Nem, stop it!"

The girl's vision blurred, followed by the sensation that she was not in control as her left arm moved back to the same place. Terror chilled her to the very bone a second time. The man placed his hand atop her arm once again, this time with nothing to prevent him from doing so, and glanced back toward her.

"I'm sorry for scaring you, but you left me no choice. You were about to damage yourself further, and I could not risk that," the dark-haired man uttered, eyes peering into hers before breaking contact. "Just let me make it up to you."

She did not want it. She wanted nothing but a swift end to it all. Within the recesses of her fractured memory, she knew this pit of imprisonment was not where she belonged.

A soft glow, almost imperceptible but still there, managed to slip itself into the girl's blank stare, and she forced her mind to focus even though her eyes failed to follow suit. A beautiful sight of intertwining white and yellow light lay suspended in the air above his outstretched hand before falling out of sight. The light's warmth seeped into her arm, so quiescent and calming that her mind slowly began to ease. What was this technique? She remembered seeing it in her sleep, like a long-forgotten memory, but the very name escaped her.

The removal of the man's hand revealed the lack of a wound. Blood was wiped clean from solid white flesh through the aid of magic, and both skin and muscle were knit seamlessly together. The girl lay awestruck, inwardly gaping though the muscles of her mouth failed to flex.

Both remained silent as he shifted over to her remaining wounds. Though she could not move or see what was happening, the figure could feel the chains unfurl and the injuries heal and the mounting sense of relief wash over her as trust towards her healer grew.

"I think that's all that needs healing so far," the man uttered almost wearily, stepping into view again with trace beads of perspiration observable on his forehead. A definable frown could also be seen as he stared down beyond the stone table she lay on. "It's unforgivable that they chose such poorly crafted chains for you. Such metal barbs should not exist. Pfeh, I'll ask my superiors for better ones, else none will be used at all."

The girl continued focusing on the doctor, neither eye nor body shifting except through unconscious motions like the occasional rise and fall of her chest. He mused silently, a hand stroking his wispy mustache all the while.

"On the other hand, maybe it is unnecessary. You will get out of this hole for training in no time at all. Three hours is my best estimate. Until then, Nem, you are free to make yourself comfortable in the meantime, or sleep while you are able."

The girl sharply inhaled as her mind and body reunited with each other, and a small shiver shook her form. She was in control again, but she was unsure as to how.

"I'm sorry for what I've done to you," the doctor continued to speak as he walked toward the door, "all of it, but I do hope you'll forgive me in time."

"W-wait . . ."

"Hmm?" The mustachioed man turned with an eyebrow as dark as night raised. "You can speak this early? What is it?"

"Th- . . . thanks."

The faintest of frowns, almost imperceptible, could be observed before the room faded to black, and the light of the hallway carved the man's silhouette and shadow from the stone background. Slowly, the cutout reached for the door and pulled it inward.

"Goodbye, Nem," the scientist spoke quietly, "and don't thank me just yet."

Blackness ensued, this time without the accompaniment of primeval fear, as the figure huddled into a ball to keep warm. Even as the world faded into dark, it had two tiny glimmering objects now to keep it company—a name and a shred of hope—but when it laid its head to the right to rest a pain more intense than any it recognised dulled every other sensation.

Fear gripped the girl's heart and mind like the skeletal hand of Death itself, and after a moment of reluctance she raised her right hand past her left temple. A long and terrible scream shattered the silence like a mirror until she collapsed unconscious back onto the stone bed. The furrow of a scar both serpentine and sutured had met her fingerstips.

* * *

Wolfe sipped nervously from his glass, staring down at the clothed board of the table with a dancing flame in his gaze. Through frugal betting and a cautious hand, he won with ten coins a hundred and fifty, but for this moment he was willing to stake more rashly than ever. He pushed the entire heap forward.

Chatter from gamblers around the table died down as surprise took its place. Most of the islanders commonly put three or four coins at risk at a time, and rarely thirty or forty, but a hundred and fifty was unheard of. Even the owner of the table stared up at him, though the middle-aged woman had a wide smirk across her plump face. Five consecutive wins did not guarantee a sixth, and the all-encompassing law of probability was surely not in Wolfe's favour.

All knew this, but the youth for one appeared confident, albeit trying to pay no attention to the concentrated focus on him. His hand dropped, he picked up the pair of dice, he stared down at the two for a moment, and he tossed.

The dice ricocheted off the raised backboard and clattered clumsily down the fuzzy surface to the table, and, when the drop of the lucky cubes had completed its course, all was silent. Wolfe breathed a relieved sigh at the sight of a pair of snake eyes, one of them having landed in the furthest rectangle marked with a single pip and the other just barely in the nearby double-pip region. The game did not fail him for the sixth time in a row, and low cheers and laughs ascended through the thick air from the gathering.

"Triple the bet for the lad . . ." the embarrassed counter spoke over the din, taking a trio of large coins out from her sizable purse and placing it in Wolfe's side of the table. "You sure you'ren't cheating?" She crossed her arms over her chest decisively. What had previously been a great day for sapping coins from gamblers turned into a day of loss. "That's three hundred right there, and I'm not about to try to get them back. The door is that way. Next, please."

A satisfied grin set across his face, the young man drained the water from his glass, gathered his winnings, and trotted out of the tavern with more gold in pocket than entering. The rush of gambling was exhilarating after his history of terrible events. Though the thought still haunted the recesses of his mind, its impact had waned to a mere nagging sensation.

Yet, as soon as he stepped out of the door, and after still, the question he had previously asked himself offered itself again: where to go? He frowned to himself and halted to ponder this. Until this morning, he rarely had the reason to ask himself that, but chancing upon it twice in one day was a bad sign.

"Where to go indeed," he muttered to himself lowly.

Though the sun to the east and the busying street were sure signs to go home for the day, he was unsure as to whether he wanted to, or if there was a home awaiting him anymore. His adopted parents, or rather the entire household, hated him, and Avvie when livid had a gaze that pierced his very soul. Why should he go back to anger them even more and hurt himself in the process?

"No . . . that's a lie," he spoke again, his head shaking irritably. "Av doesn't hate me; she said that earlier when she said she actually cared about . . . why did I tell myself that?"

The sounds of a logging cart rolling by mostly shattered his inner thoughts, and the scent of fresh-cut fir briefly reminded of crimson candles and tangerines. He loved that smell, but he did not smile.

"I need to go back," he stated in finality, and continued to step down the stairs of the tavern, "if only to apologise to her. Why did it take me so long to think of something so simple? Stupid, stupid, stupid. . . ."

On he trudged. Along the way the wind built up again, sea-bound, resistive, and almost warning, but he trudged all the same. In his mind there was a goal set, and he was going to see it through to the end.

* * *

The luminescence of the crystals on either side of the walkway grew as the sun's influence waned, lighting Wolfe's path in calming hues of blue and purple, but Wolfe was in no way calm. His sister lay just beyond the massive door of the manor, and he had no idea what to say to ask her forgiveness.

Something was amiss, but he could not detect what that was. Perhaps it was the wind that continued to resist even now, but something infinitesimal felt almost desirous for him to leave. Putting the feeling aside and attempting to swallow his fear with a gulp that drained his mouth, he laid his hand on the spherical knob and pulled the door open.

Firelight dimly illuminated the otherwise poorly lit room, and the sounds of conversation that could be heard over the swing of the door was quickly extinguished. Wolfe blinked in the shadowed side of the portal and closed the door behind him, eyes adjusting to the low light.

"Late as always, Timbre. I wonder if you even know what punctuality is," spoke the detached voice of the father figure from behind one of the chairs by the fireside. From which, he did not know. "Have a seat," the voice prompted.

Wolfe was perplexed. Surely the father didn't mean to sit opposite him, because it had to be occupied. No other chairs he knew of were in the room, and he remained rooted in place.

"_Seat yourself!"_ barked Maurus, a meaty finger jutting from behind the rightmost chair and pointing to the opposite.

Wolfe jumped high and his heart higher still, but he did as he was told, forgetting to leave his shoes by the door in his hurry. By the moment the sturdily-set man could be fully seen, he noticed that the father's gaze was on him all the while. The stare continued for a while, and Wolfe uncomfortably broke the silence.

"For what reason did you summon me?" he asked quietly.

"I wanted to have a personal chat with you," the elder grumbled, his tone sounding more akin to a rock crumbling to gravel than anything friendly.

"Personal?" the lad questioned in surprise, looking about from his seat in search of another person. "I thought that you in the middle of a conversation. No one else is around?"

"As you can plainly see. Irina and Avdotya have left for the Graven's estate and will be back when the evening is long spent. That gives us plenty of time to talk."

Wolfe nodded nervously, the thought of privately chatting with the father twice as terrifying currently now that neither his adoptive mother nor his sister was available to prevent the man from going out of control. He had seen his adopted parent's calm erase itself on more than one occasion, and, had Avvie not intervened, he probably would have suffered far more than verbal abuse.

That was not the only thing he was nervous about, however. He was almost sure that he heard a pair of voices, one low and guttural, and the other Maurus's. Was that real, or was his mind simply playing tricks on him? He did not like either option, that much was certain.

"So what was it you wished to talk about, sir?" he spoke with difficulty while shifting in his seat.

The father smirked and leaned forward, his eyes awash with a glow that Wolfe could not distinguish whether it was the natural fire from under the hearth or an inner, devilish flame.

"The truth," spoke he. "My gut tells me you've been dodgy the past few days, and I want to know if you have been honest with me."

Wolfe's ruffled pride curdled underneath his skin, and his face flushed with agitation.

"If this is about Isha, I have been completely honest with you. Sol as my witness, I did not kill her, nor could I! We were—"

"It's not about your little friend in the forest," the father uttered, the expression on his hawk-like features inverting into a light frown. "Some evidence has come up and cleared you of most of the charges, though it is still being ratified. Our searches have been rather . . . vigilant," he continued, rubbing his reddened eyes as if he had not slept for more than a day.

"Wha—?" Wolfe queried before cutting himself off. His expression turned into one of both incredible surprise and joy. "Y-you have some evidence? Please, tell me everything! I need to know!"

"Not now, but after," the father replied, a hand lifting from its respective sidepiece of his chair and waving the matter off. "I will tell you when you tell me what you know, fair?"

"Y-yes, sir!"

"Then tell me, did you awaken your inner potential?"

The question silenced Wolfe as much as a punch to the stomach would, and all the joviality swiftly drained from his face to be taken up by confusion.

"Inner . . . potential, sir?"

"Yes, inner potential. Have you been experiencing any oddities, like the earth moving underneath your feet? Water shifting to your will?"

"You . . . you mean Adepthood, don't you?"

The man only nodded, his gaze locked on Wolfe in the expectation of an answer and his hands gripping the chair's arms tightly. Wolfe also thought he heard the the swishing of clothing creeping into his ear, but neither of them moved, and Maurus said that they were alone. The dread feeling that something was amiss crept upon him again.

"I have . . . experienced nothing of the sort," he lied, struggling to keep his voice in check.

"You are sure? No flames popping up into existence?"

"I am positive," Wolfe fibbed again.

"No wind emerging from nowhere?" The father leaned forward closer as if attempting to scry Wolfe like a crystal ball, one eyebrow lifted and the other sternly locked in place. "You are absolutely sure? You aren't lying to me?"

"Of course, I am absolutely certain!" Wolfe replied; the repetition of denying the question greatly helped his nerves.

The father pulled back into his chair and relaxed his muscles, a small flash of a smile quickly hiding itself fractions of a second later.

"That is all I wish to know. Thank you for being honest with me, Wolfe. Thank you for proving yourself a bigger fool than I imagined you to be."

Wolfe felt a massive surge of pain as a clump of his hair was pulled forcibly upward, but the cold pressure of a knife laid fully against his throat unevoked whatever thought he had of screaming out his displeasure. His breath quickened, and through pain-inspired tears he saw the smiling image of the father.

"You really shouldn't be alarmed. There is no doubt that you saw a time like this coming, one day or some other. Carn, let up on the knife, please. Let the son speak to his adoptive father one last moment."

A grunt sounded out from behind him, and the force of the blade across his throat slowly disappeared from Wolfe's neck, leaving behind a trail of blood where the weapon had cut into flesh during its rest. The cruel grab to his hair continued, however, limiting the movement of his head.

"Why . . . why are you doing this?" he peeped.

"Never mind why."

"Then were you the one that killed Isha?" Wolfe shouted, moving much more than he should have had judging from a tug on his head that nearly tore out a portion of his hair. A sharp cry of pain tore out from his throat.

The father's smile widened for a brief moment before speaking once more: "No, I didn't. Someone accidentally beat me to the chance before I could even raise my sword arm."

Muffled laughter came from behind Wolfe's chair, and the young man's face twisted into one of rage. A deep and powerful surge of power gathered in his arms, just begging for a chant to be loosened from his tongue, but he kept himself restrained for now.

"Then tell me, _father_, what has cleared me of Isha's death. You promised me an answer."

"Still harping on that, are you?" Maurus chuckled darkly, folding his hands across his lap. "No, Wolfe, I never promised you anything, but I will amuse you before you die. One of my own killed her, effectively and efficiently. No one else kills with two blades."

Anger seethed from every pore and cell of Wolfe's person, and tears streamed down his cheeks as he failed to keep his emotions from getting the best of him.

"Don't be sad; it was bound to happen anyway, and if anything it was better this way. Now we have someone to pin the blame on, and when you lie dead on the floor with a knife in your hand and a suicide letter in your handwriting—"

Maurus did not get much further before Wolfe chanted and raised his arms, and everything within the vicinity was sent backwards. Endtables flew, papers tore themselves to shreds shortly after flying, and the chair Wolfe sat in leaned back at a ferocious speed so that the head of the chair lay horizontal within the second. The sickening wet sound of crunching bone sounded from behind him, as well as a terrible howl of anguish.

The world went dark for a moment as firelight was snuffed out of existence, but the heated wood managed to spark itself back to life and bring some small source of light to the room. Wolfe struggled to right himself from falling a small distance away from the chair, and so did Maurus, judging from the hardly audible coughs far behind him.

"You lying mongrel . . . you are indeed an Adept!" the father wheezed, causing Wolfe to look behind him. In the low light, he could see only the father, standing straight up with a terrible scowl scrawled across his face. "When I get my hands on you, I will wring your neck and throw you to the werewolves. You can't escape this fate."

"Just watch me . . ." Wolfe responded after a fit of shock-induced coughs before he started toward the front door. The last dregs of raw energy he had he built up in his legs, with some in his arm for good measure. If he was to flee, he needed to either run or protect himself.

However fast Wolfe was on his feet, Maurus was inevitably the faster, being far less exhausted and much more muscular. When Wolfe had reached the door, the father had also and slammed the youth against the oaken door with his forearm.

Pain lanced through Wolfe's spine and ribcage as he collided with both the door and the full brunt of the father's force, and blurred his vision to the point where focusing on the man's already-close face was nigh impossible. It was so difficult to breath, and felt impossible to resist the crush his chest was experiencing.

That was when he remembered the hand. With what little space he had left, he jerked his head forward and down, striking the bridge of Maurus's nose with his forehead. The man howled and loosened the pressure on Wolfe's chest for but a moment, and the younger took advantage of this. Finally able to breathe, he raised his hand up and chanted.

A powerful horizontal tornado formed between the two stemming from Wolfe's hand, carving a distance as it threw the father backward and Wolfe further against the face of the door. Had its construction not been sturdy, the wood of the door may have splintered and yielded to the pressure directed upon it, but it held until the swirling vortex receded.

Wolfe coughed up blood as he dropped to the ground, covering his mouth and turning a portion of his palm red before attempting to stagger to his feet. He had just barely evaded death, but had no time to rest. He had to leave before anything worse was about to happen.

With what little remained of his strength gathered, he opened the door and spilled into the walkway and out of sight.


	7. Chapter 7: Tears

**Author's Note: Well, I have finally gotten back to my old 3-page-a-day self, and it only took a sheet of paper, a notebook, four novels, two fan-fics, one self-help book, music, a dictionary, a thesaurus, a cheapo mechanical .7 mm pencil, and a lot of elbow grease to do so. I hope it is up to my usual par, and that everyone is enjoying the story so far. Major thanks goes out to Mystic's Apprentice for all her reviews.**

* * *

_**The Bonds of Fate Chapter 7: Tears**_

_Some fools dare say laughter is better than sadness, and I for one doubt their words. Hearts purify through sorrow and are murked by mirth. Wisdom is not gathered by laughing one's troubles away but through understanding all the contexts of the matter. Friendship is not bound by laughter but through the most intimate forms of communication, grief and consolation. No, I do not trust the words of those who laugh at all, but put my faith in those with deeper insight on humanity._

—Soleh, Mayor of Alhafra

* * *

The party at the Graven estate was luxurious, to say the least. So much food was laid out for the small number of members attending the soirée, and the manor was decorated so elegantly that one of the guests praised it to be at par with the Hall of the Heavens, the sacred house of the deities. The Gravens smiled, enjoying the compliment. The Perrot boy smiled. The Ropierres smiled. The Westoses smiled. Even Irina Rind smiled.

Avdotya smiled too, retaining the mien of composure, finesse, and nobility that she and her mother wore as they dined. The masque of civility was loathsome to wield. If the decision were left to her, she would have let the evening go to the pigs and removed the collective attitude of haughtiness, but since it was not the only option was to play along, however distasteful as it was.

What made matters worse was that the Perrot boy across the table kept smiling at _her _between sipping enervated wine and chewing roast goose over the course of the meal. He was a young man only a few years older than she was, in a rich suit decorated with small stones pocketed in the fabric of his sleeves and travelling down his chest, but the way he looked at her was similar to a starving dog eying candied meat. Wide eyes attempted to meet her gaze over pudgy cheeks and an upturned nose, and his smile was shifty and lascivious. Never did she fear a visage more than his.

Unable to keep her nerves in place for the full length of the meal, Avdotya excused herself from the table, but when he tried to do the same shortly afterward she quickly sat back down. The young man was not going to leave her alone, it seemed, and she might as well stay in the sight of company rather than risk being alone with an ogler.

Some chuckles arose from around the table, including from her own mother, but Raye, the younger daughter of the hosting family and perhaps the vainest at the table, clucked her tongue and briskly turned her head. Avvie wondered if the affront was targeted towards her or the Perrot, but she did not appreciate it very much either way.

Av hardly touched her food as the meal continued in its festive manner. Sometimes one stiff commented on how pretty a dress is or how fancy someone looked behind brass buttons, and some other rich body detailed rigorously how delectable the veal balls in honey glaze were, followed it up by the need of a recipe exchange. Only rarely did she look up from the table to witness them. Her mind was carried too far away from extravagant merriment for that.

She thought back to what had happened between Wolfe and her earlier that day, about how cutting the final words she had spoken to him were. He deserved every drop of her anger for training so hard behind her back, but she wondered how he would handle her response. Would he take it to heart or would it push him to delve deeper into his training, injuring himself in the process and breaking her heart further? Ever the pessimist, she worried that it was the latter.

"Is everything all right?" she heard from her mother to her left, drawing her from her trance.

"Hmm? Oh . . . yes, I am fine," Avdotya responded, the fake, courteous simper reemerging from her lips. "I'm just worried about the math and lady tests Master Rhado had me do before he was sick."

Irina appeared to take the bait and smiled warmly back at her daughter.

"I am sure that everything is fine, my egg. You always do so well in your studies," she said, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her into a loose hug, and continuing her conversation with the Ropierre lord and lady further down the table.

Half an hour of feigning attention to praise had passed before the festivities had been announced by the host and hostess, and the dinner and desert dishes were quickly displaced for an evening in the courtyard. Lanterns were lit across multiple tables set for two and seldom three, and in some choice areas in the spacious gardens to the north were more still, displaying a close-cut lawn, fruit-bearing trees, and perfect hedge growths. It must have taken three dozen workers to lay the entire garden into such order, Avvie had thought as she ventured to the balcony, but she informed herself later on that she never had the head for such calculations.

Once again the haughtiness of flaunting the choice estate was revealing itself, but she decided to look past it and into merely the scenery. In the distance beyond the crabapple and damson trees she could find an attractive view of the distant ocean, waves sending paper-thin shimmers of moonlight toward the raised court. The sky took upon itself the hue of a blackening sapphire, the grass of cut green geode, and the ocean a shimmering cobalt sea.

"Beautiful . . ." she heard herself say, a true smile touching her lips for the first time for the whole party. She had never been out on the Graven's court at night when she and her mother had been invited the last time, and now that she had she wished the sight to never leave her memory.

"Yes, beautiful," added a husky voice from nearby, "but not nearly as beautiful as the one I see before me."

Avdotya gasped to realise that the Perrot boy had been standing next to her, grinning like before. For how long and for what purpose, she did not know, but she was not going to remain and find out. To her distress, a hand clasped one of her own as they fled the bannister, palming her fingers to trade warmth in the cooling air. Her cheeks flushed with blood.

"Myron, you let go of me this instant!" she snapped.

The young man offered no resistance, and she pulled herself free of his clutch effortlessly, but his smile twisted into a pouting expression.

"Oh, come now, can't a man hold his betrothed's hand in public?"

"First, I am not your betrothed, and second, certainly not without her permission!"

"Well, can I at least say that you are beautiful?" Myron pleaded.

Av hesitated in delivering a spiteful remark, even though she desired nothing more than to tell him to jump off a dike headfirst. He was the first in a while outside of the family to mention such a thing. Sure, she had put on what she considered as kilos of makeup on her face and wore an elegant sarafan with silken lampas overlay, all courtesy of her mother, so she must have been beautiful in accordance to the rich's taste, but the compliment was so rare she savoured the thought.

"I suppose you can . . ." she responded quietly, turning her head toward the party. Some of the guests were watching them, studying them, probably even placing bets on them. How she hated their behaviour.

"If so, can we discuss something over a table? Standing and talking is unnecessary."

Before she could voice an opinion on the matter, Myron walked off to the closest empty set of chairs and seated himself. She followed, if only because of courtesy, and placed herself opposing him with her gaze fallen to her lap.

"I was curious," began the Perrot, "about the status of your upcoming coming-of-age ceremony within the next eight days. First, I can only say that congratulations are in order for approaching the zenith between childhood and adulthood. The springtime of your youth is past, and a new season lies ahead, which is what I wished to speak of the more. I would like nothing more than to claim your dainty hand in marriage so that we may conquer both summertimes together. Consider it my birthday present to you, a forever-long bond that will play the benefactor and keep us merry for the entire length of our existence."

Avdotya felt her hands grow clammy under the table. She wondered how long he pondered this or even how long it took him to commit the speech to memory. She had seen this coming from his glazed stare across the long banquet table inside, but something seemed off, as if the words were placed within his mouth by another. Her eyes darted to the left, to the right, and then back down. She had to speak this correctly.

"Myron . . . I appreciate the offer, but what I desire is more than praise and sugared words."

The young man smirked and toyed with one of the tourmaline gems in his sleeve.

"Is that so? Then perhaps you should see me in a more passionate position, if you get my meaning. I'm a gifted kisser, and—"

"That is far enough, Myron Perrot," she spoke scornfully, reproach in every word. "What I desire more in a man is not the flames and ardour of romance, but trust. Outside of the noble houses, I do not know you, and inside I cannot get but a glimpse of your true self. How can I love someone I could not know?"

"I can promise you that you can get to know me once we get married," he whispered over the table, extending his arm and placing his palm in the centre of the circular table. "What do you say to that, my sweet? I've eyes on no other than you."

"What I say to that is that I'll think about it shortly after you dive into an abyss, _if_ you can do anything but float when dropped in the water, that is."

Myron frowned and looked around, licking the thin lips that so oddly accompanied his fat features. It was the closest thing to getting livid that Avvie had seen from him.

"I'll pretend that I did not hear that," he grumbled lowly, "and forgive you if you take my hand right now. My offer still stands, and I promise you this: you will find no better offer on every of these islands. I am heir to the most prosperous family in all of Palmaria, after all."

"Stuff those words in your windpipe and keep them there! I hope you choke on them!" Avdotya countered, her brows furrowed. "What do you think I care about wealth and offers? Of sly deals and trinkets? These are not the words of trust but rather those of a fool whose desires involve only lust."

Flames burned within the young man's eyes, and he threw the table over after ascending, leaving only air between them. Silverware, glassware, and lantern alike fell to the ground, clanging and shattering on impact. The sound of conversation ceased, and after all was done only the crickets in the field beyond shattered the silence.

Myron did not speak, staring dead into Avvie's surprised gaze before walking off in a storm of rage. The small crowd parted to let him pass, some in shock of what had happened, others like her mother frowning, and Raye Graven as the only one with a flagrant ear-to-ear grin. For a girl just a few months younger than she, the woman was certainly a youthful witch to enjoy the scene, probably craving Myron's attention and wantonly desirous to sell herself for riches and prestige. Raye disappeared beyond the crowd, confirming her suspicion.

Avvie felt her fear recede with every footstep that the Perrot youth had taken away from her. She thought that he was going to strike her cheek with such fierceness in his sight, but if that happened she would surely have responded by snapping the nose back into proper shape for him with her bare fists. As she left her seat and walked off, she grinned at the imaginative blow and stared out at the gardens once more, never minding the stares that burrowed into her back.

At length the party resumed, and valets cleaned up the mess from the upturned table momentarily. Avdotya did not desire to cast a glance back from her seat at the steps. She knew what was happening and she did not dare risk locking eyes with the pig of a Perrot another time, and as such she kept herself focused on the landscape, the only physical piece of solace she could find.

It took the soft sounds of swivelling cloth behind her to cull her attention, and she twisted around on her rump to find Irina looking down from the topmost step, a motherly and nervous expression scribbled over her face.

"Hey, hon-bun. Mind if I sit with you?" Irina asked, offering a faint smile.

Avdotya made an indeterminate face, nodded, and turned away, allowing her mother to seat herself nearby.

"Listen . . ." Irina continued quietly, leaning forward in an attempt to make eye contact, but Av continued to avert her head. "I know your feelings on the whole marriage thing have not come around to see its importance, but you have to trust the fact that this is a custom, passed on for more than thirty generations. It has never done our community a speck of wrong, and it never will."

"Mum, it wasn't that which set me off . . . it was him. Did you not hear our conversation?"

"Many of us heard you finish up, love."

"Then how are we not in agreement?" Avdotya queried, a twang of anger in her voice as she faced her mother. "He's a Romeo and a rich scamp! I am nothing more than a tool to be used in his eyes, and you say that you listened in on our chat, so you must know what _services_ I would perform if so!"

Her mother pursed her lips and nodded, saying in a slow and cautious voice: "We women have our roles to play, as do men. It is life's cycle to be—"

"Subservient to a man who one does not love?"

"You can learn to love him eventually. It just takes time."

"Just like you and Father?"

Irina's mouth and expressions fluxed considerably, sometimes revealing anger, and other times a sense of dread. Av knew the answer before it was spoken.

"Yes . . . just like us, poppet . . ." her mother spoke gently, to which Avdotya turned her head away and closed her eyes in a futile attempt to shut out the world. "I too wasn't fond of the thought when my eighteenth birthday neared, and once the day had come your father and I were paired together. We fought often and argued often, so he did not exactly sweep me off my feet, but looking back at what I have gained through our union I cannot help but feel appreciative." Avdotya felt a reassuring pat on her leg. "You will too when you have your first child."

"I will _never_ appreciate a forced marriage," Avvie countered through sniffles, tears brimming with rage leaving a steaming trail across her cheeks, "especially with a suitor that's been chosen for me!"

She did not bother to dry her eyes or glance over to her mother to recognise that she was staring at her, recurrence and woman's intuition each playing a part in her understanding. She did not want to cry, nor did she expect to cry, but she could not prevent herself from doing so.

"How did you know about that?" Irina questioned in a low whisper.

"Myron's not eloquent enough to propose like that. He's as dumb as driftwood and stumbles on words. Besides, he would never have come without his dear old pop unless there was something important that needed to be done. Someone must have told him I was of marriageable age and helped him along, namely you or Father."

"Ah . . . you saw through that already, huh?"

"I had more than half an hour to think about it," the daughter responded, wiping the tears from her face with the underside of the now-loosened lampas overlay.

"I see. You are a clever girl, my egg. You get that from your mother's side," Irina commented before a soft smile touched her mouth.

Avdotya mirrored her for but a moment before she dropped it and stared out into the midnight sky, noting a flash of red not previously there in the distance.

"Mom?" she uttered curiously.

"Yes, pet? What is it?"

"Do you know what that is?" she asked, pointing deep into the night and past the sea.

Both stared on, finding a candescent light flashing to life and tearing a hole into the forming darkness. High in the star-spackled sky did it stay, looming atop the second largest island within the archipelago like a residing vulture. Av knew that island all too well, having lived there her entire life.

"A Beacon is lit . . ." her mother voiced with such chill that Avvie looked over to her.

"Is that bad?"

"That would depend on how many lights there are, my dear. Can you tell how many? My eyes are not so young anymore."

She squinted into the night in an attempt to pick apart the flames burning so high from the sea, but she shook her head.

"I can only see one. What does this mean, Mother?"

Irina breathed out a sigh of relief, but her mouth fluxed still. A shadow had passed over her visage as she looked back up into the onyx sky.

"Mother, are you all right?" Avdotya questioned worriedly. "Mom, what does it mean?"

"Not now, love. I will tell you on the way. Go say goodbye to your friends. We are leaving in ten minutes."

* * *

When the two arrived back at the manor, the poor girl was wreathed in confusion. On the boat ride back, her mother had told the purpose of the Beacons, also informing her that the three torches on each isle were of varying degrees. When one was lit, it meant that an offence worthy of alarm was perpetrated and that a search was warranted on the isle. When two were lit, a more serious offence had been committed, and that all the isles were to answer the call and search. When all three were lit, a conflict between nations had been confirmed on one or more of the isles, and the entire archipelago was to respond with war.

What made things worse was that Irina said nothing more, no matter how much Avdotya pleaded. She even tried to ask the aged oarsman for further information, but the man shook his head saying that he did not remember much from those days and it has been so long since they were lit. She stayed silent for the rest of the journey, on sea and on land. Evidently it was many a year since even a single beacon had been lit.

Once the two had descended, Avdotya thanked the driver of the coach with a smile and a compliment, and he returned it with a meek thank-you as always before trotting down the road back toward town. She enjoyed the man's company, if only because he rarely had anyone else to talk to, but for some reason her brother had never liked it, saying that the man gave him the jitters. The thought struck her silent and glum again, and she started down the walkway with cold colours flashing across her face.

Her mother followed silently, looming close at all times and constantly looking to Av as if looking for something to reassure her. She could not understand it. Before solid land was underfoot once more she seemed so calm and passive, but now she clung to her like a goose with her gosling. She wondered whether there was really anything to fear, as the fire above the isle had been quenched a little more than half an hour ago. Surely the search had ended, whether it was a criminal or simply some poor soul that ran off in the night. The Knights of Palmaria, though few in number, were very efficient in whatever manner they are informed about, or so her father had told her.

Avdotya pulled the leftmost door to the manor open for her mother, who merely smiled in wordless thanks before her skin whitened. The girl questioned as to why before she paled as well, the scent of blood offended her nostrils.

Her eyes shot open as fear overtook her. Did something happen here in the manor? Did some offender break into their house and spill blood? She silently prayed that her father who she had left behind for the party was safe and unharmed and for her brother as well, and without a second notion she ran inside.

"Avdotya! Don't go! It's too dangerous!" she heard from behind her, but she ignored her mother's requests. The lanterns along the twin stairwells on one side of the entry beckoned her to head upstairs, and upstairs she went.

The scent of blood saturated the air, and as she progressed further up the staircase she felt a cold wetness touch her hands while sliding it across the railing. A chill struck her as she stared down onto her hand, but she only quickened her pace knowing that blood was on it. Someone was bleeding. Someone was injured and ventured up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs the blood trail ceased to exist, but when a pair of footsteps lined with dried dirt led further down the hall she carefully followed it. Scenarios embellished by fear drifted through her mind so fast she had a difficult time seeing anything else than the death of one or both members of her family. Wolfe with a knife lodged in his chest, her father with a grisly slash to his hand, her father dead and Wolfe fleeing upstairs only to get killed as well—she feared it all and shook tears from her eyes.

"You must be alive!" she tried to call out, only to have most of the words remain in her throat. "You must!"

A thin stream of hidden light flickered through her parent's door, swiftly attracting her attention towards it. Red stains taking the form of a hand were on the knob, so whoever was wounded or bloody had certainly entered it, or perhaps even remained inside. She slowly approached the door, her heart pounding in her chest, and with eyes wide with anticipation she reached for the metal knob.

Fear held her in check, her hand only centimetres away from the reddened handle. She feared the sight. She feared blood, though she had seen her own spilled too many times to count. Fear overruled everything before she poured every ounce of vigor into moving. Her hand moved, the knob turned, and the door creaked open.

A stocky man in Knight's armour rose from his seat near the bed on the opposite side of the portal, sword-arm trained on his blade. His steely glance locked onto Avdotya and struck her like a wall of brick. She felt herself moving backwards, terror overtaking her. Did a Knight slay her brother and father, and was now about to murder her as well? She let out a short, fearful cry and stretched an arm out defensively.

"Who are you? Speak up!" the Knight questioned gruffly, a third of his winged rapier pulled from his scabbard and shimmering in the golden light of the room. Avdotya felt herself unable to answer, and the man advanced.

"Stand down! That's my daughter you're talking to! Agh!" rasped a voice from deeper within, one that she recognised immediately and loosened her tongue.

"Father? Father!" she shouted, jumping through the portal once the Knight stepped out of the way and approaching the bedside.

Maurus was there, his body stretched out on half of the bed with his head propped upright by a pillow. His rounded chest lay exposed, revealing cuts from many angles that bled through the bonded bandages covering them, and even his face was marked up with finer slashes. The most prominent injury, however, was the enormous bruise in the middle of his chest, spanning so widely that it sprawled beyond the pectorals.

"By the divines . . . what has happened to you . . . ?" she asked, failing to stop tears from forming once again.

"Your succubus-spawn of a step-brother, that's what happened!" Maurus shouted before roaring in pain, a small rivulet of blood oozing from the corner of his mouth from biting down on his tongue.

Avdotya could not believe her ears. Wolfe could not have done this much damage, right? But then again, he was an Adept, and Adepts had dangerous and almost limitless potential, as she had gathered from her lessons. She swallowed hard and peered up from his wounds. She had to make certain, and locked her knowledge of Wolfe's Adepthood away from her speech.

"That's . . . impossible, isn't it? Wolfe would never do this to you, nor could he. He—"

"Daughter, I saw it right in front of my eyes, his murderous intent! He meant to kill me like he did his little friend—agh!" He cut himself off, clutching the right side of his chest. A long bloodied bandage the length of two hand spans shifted a deeper shade of crimson.

"My captain, you must relax, or more wounds will open up," the Knight from before commented worriedly, walking to the other side of the room for another bandage. Under his breath could be heard a light curse toward the Great Healer for taking so long.

"You'd think I wouldn't know that, would you, Heath?" Maurus responded with a grimace. "I've seen more of my blood than you have yours, dotard, so don't try and play a wise man!"

The armoured individual said nothing, merely nodding and reapplying a bandage. The devotion the man had towards her father must have been great.

Avdotya was lost in reflection from what she had heard. Wolfe had never physically attacked anyone before, but she wondered if it were true that he had killed Isha and assaulted her father. If this were all truth, then did she ever really know him? He kept secret his terrifying control of the wind, so maybe, just maybe, he had lied about everything else too.

"No . . ." she voiced, backing up against the nearby wall and attempting to cling to it with her fingernails. The world started to spin in her tear-blurred gaze, her chest heaved in mixed breath, and her knees threatened to give. "No! I could not nor would not believe that . . . my brother would never do such things!"

"Open your eyes, daughter!" the father snarled, propping himself up with an arm to cast a glare toward her. "He hid his Adepthood, he murdered his little friend, and he tried to murder me! He's beyond all—_grach_!"

"Easy, captain!" Heath commanded as he applied pressure to the wounded man's shoulder. Maurus resisted being pushed down at first, but over time he conceded and lowered himself back to the pillow.

"He's beyond all hope, Avdotya," Maurus continued, blood seeping from his mouth when he forgot to swallow. "When next I see him, I do not care if he is living or dead. I'll carve out his very heart and squelch it under my boot." He craned his head up to eye his daughter, the foulest of scowls smeared across his face. "He is not your brother anymore. He's a renegade, doomed to die with a knife in his back."

Each word sank so deeply into the girl that it penetrated her very soul. All bravery routed, she blindly fled towards the door before toppling into her mother just outside the portal.

There they stood, mother and daughter, one trying to embrace and whisper worthless words of comfort in an ear while the other sobbed into her chest. No amount of console could keep her in place for long. Av broke away from her mother's arms, ran down the hall, and slammed the door to her room closed, burying her face so deeply into a decorative pillow that all the world drowned in silence. No one dared disturb her for the remainder of the night.


	8. Chapter 8: Forking Paths

**Author's Note: **I know that this chapter has taken a long time to come out, but I have been experimenting with different styles of writing and coming up with one I believe is stronger. Hopefully you will think so too, and, if not, please tell me. I only bite when I am hungry or fear something. Anyway, please enjoy and review, kind readers, or perish under the Millstone of Thanny's Irateness.

* * *

_**Ravaged Bonds Chapter 8: Forking Paths**_

_Separation is as natural as it is manmade. The tree and prey are both ripped from its progeny; the mind is severed at death, birth, or extreme trial; flesh is torn by fang and sword; and the ground is sullied for its resources. Living peacefully, as you consider it, Yulli, is thusly nothing but a foolish notion because it is completely unnatural!_

_ —General Rantz the Younger to Lord Yulli of Bilibin_

* * *

Someone knocked roughly at the entry, filling the air with the jangling of locks, the squeak of a hinge, and the rattle of flesh on wood. It was inescapable. No matter how deep into her blankets she delved, Avdotya could not manage to escape the rat-a-tat-tat that offended her eardrums. When she covered her ears, it rang on. When she thrust a pillow over her head, it rang on. Once all efforts were dubbed fruitless, she withdrew her blankets and stepped out of bed.

Everything appeared as a mess of black and white. Moonlight as cold and white as ice shone through the window, crystallising the dust it touched in the air and illuminating the floor like tiles of ivory. Whatever light struck the surface was greedily absorbed by the wood, and was reflected in such a manner that only the eye retrieved its glow, so much so that Av had to feel for the knob to pull her bedroom door open.

Lamps lit the hardwood path beyond in warm patches of cherry and orange tints, far different from the monochromatic shades of her bedroom. In the depths of her mind, she wondered where her father and mother were, or whether they had woken up at all. When the maid was not available, they were the ones who greeted nightly visitors, but they must have been too deep into their sleep to answer an unexpected call in the middle of the night. Her parents _were_ heavy sleepers.

As she descended the steps, the shadows that formed and fled at her feet entranced her, some cast by herself while others generated by the claw-esque extensions holding the wall lamps intertwined like kaleidoscopic patterns. It was terrifyingly beautiful, generating a mixed emotion that drowned out the persistent rapping for a time, but all things, especially staircases, must come to an end.

The knocking grew quieter as Avvie approached, resulting in silence when she reached for the twin locks. Did the knocker give up, or did whoever it was notice her coming, or perhaps something else? She had no idea, but she reckoned she was soon about to find out. The chains fell, and one swift tug on the handle pulled the entry open.

Her heart leapt in her chest to see the silhouette of her brother at the door, a pale smile illuminated by the crystal walk on the sides of his paler face. She felt herself mirroring him, regardless of the striking confusion.

"Wolfe? What are you doing out here? Why aren't you asleep?" she asked curiously.

His smile slipped from the shadowy edges of his silhouette.

"So you don't know what happened, or perhaps your father had not told you," he replied.

"W-what do you mean? What is it that I don't know?" Her brother remained silent, filling her with unease. She licked her lips worriedly, keeping her gaze locked where his were supposed to be. "Please, answer me this. What has Father not told me?"

"Why don't you find out for yourself?"

Wolfe's living shadow stepped backwards with the timing of a grandfather clock, never turning and never shifting his head. Avdotya's blood froze in her veins. She wanted to follow him, to call out for him to stop his metronomic plodding, but her body was rooted to the spot. Down the porch's stairs he plodded with neither foot nor pace missing a mark, and further did light creep up on the edges of the silhouette.

She let out a gasp at what she saw. His face was ashen, his clothes ragged and torn, his eyes dim, and his teeth glimmering through a faint smirk. She could hardly tell now that this was the sibling that had lived in the same household that she did, who dined at the same table as she did, who shared the same secrets that she did. Instead, he appeared as but a ghost of his former self.

"What happened to you?" she asked, her body quivering as she left the frame. "You're so pale . . . are you all right?"

"Look down."

Avdotya pursed her lips, but she slowly did as she was told, starting with his torso, then down to his legs, then down to a spattered pathway. Fear, suffocating with its grim reproach, welled up in her throat as she backtracked a line of thick, vermillion droplets.

"Heavens above, you're injured . . . and badly at that!" she managed to speak through pursed lips. She willed her legs into motion and stepped closer. "Come inside this instant so I can close the wound, Wolfe. If you lose another quart of blood like this, you'll soon die, I'm certain of it!"

The smirk morphed into a sneer, and Wolfe's orbits, eye and all, appeared as grey and terrible as the rest of him. The sight alone halted all movement, body, breath, and heart.

"You . . . you're not my brother, are you . . . ?" she peeped, fighting the paralysis seizing her lips.

Shimmers of blue and purple light flickered to life across Wolfe's flesh, shifting into a pale lavender blue, and the short, sandy hair that previously sported his head took the complexion of a curling ocean wave, ever growing longer. Twin mounds of flesh protruded from the latter, twisting into hardened horns.

"Your brother is dead, Av," the creature voiced with sickening sweetness, using Wolfe's voice all the while. "He was sucked dry a few nights ago. His fears . . . his ambitions . . . his innermost desires . . . they were like a fine vintage. You, on the other hand, might rival."

It approached seductively, hips gyrating like a snake's coil and every step a smooth motion. Facial configuration shifted, bones snapping sickeningly into a different position and muscles rearranging themselves underneath placid skin. The end result was the image of young woman emaciated and beautiful, the sight of which fixed Avdotya in place. The creature took the appearance of a goddess, but the predatory eyes erased all thought of divinity.

Avdotya struggled to raise her arm in defence, but the creature shoved it down with a wave of a hand.

"Now now, don't waste your energy on beating your brother away," the creature spoke with a foul giggle, launching a grin only Wolfe would have achieved.

Speckles of blood-tinged anger danced within her eyes as she tried again, faster this time, but all was for nothing when the eyes of the creature narrowed. Time slowed, responses hazed, and the muscles of her arm failed to hinder the creature's approach. A chill from a second paralysis scaled her backbone like a centipede, and only her mind could react.

"So feisty. I love that," the fiend giggled, raising a hand to stroke her shuddering arm. "You have such tender skin, like your mother"—it looked dead in her eyes with a pupilless stare—"such beautiful eyes, like your father . . . and within them a mouthwatering assortment of fears."

Feline teeth flashed as moonlight crept upon on the monster's visage, and every fibre of Avdotya's being urged her to move. Again was she planted to the spot; no matter how strong the desire to thrash was, her muscles replied only with a weak spasm.

"Go on. Struggle."

She did. She tried so hard to break free, but a paralysis like an encasing stone coffin arrested all her efforts. She felt the creature tilt her head back by her chin with perfect ease, and when her sight lifted toward the heavens she noticed the watching stars, spellbound similar to herself.

"I want to taste it," she heard from below, moist breath saturating her throat. "I want to taste my sister's fear so badly. . . ."

Fangs punctured the soft surface of Avdotya's neck, plunging deeper and deeper and deeper still. The world dyed itself a deeper shade of red every moment her lifeblood rushed out, and right before all faded into a sheet of crimson she caught the moon slinking from the rooftop to sneak a peek.

* * *

Avdotya lurched forward in a state of panic, heaving in shallow breaths over the crumpled form of blankets in her lap. Her arms lay braced on her legs as though she were about to vomit, and perspiration dotted her forehead in thick beads. Instinct dictated that she should raise a hand to her throat, and when she did the only thing to be felt was cold, clammy flesh. No blood stained her olive skin or ran in streams down her chest. Nothing scathing met her touch as she ran her hand across soft part of her neck. Her mind sighed in relief that it was all a dream and not reality, but her body refused to react similarly and broke down in sobs.

Three days and four nights had passed since the lighting of the island's resident Beacon, and for the fourth night in a row nothing but nightmares came to greet her between evening and dawn. Sleep deprivation left her eyes reddened and dull, and her body, once adamant and spry, steadily weakened through inaction.

After the attack on her father, the manor had undergone a lockdown. The immediate family was kept indoors for fear of a second assault, and only Emery the maid and the Great Healer were allowed access to the household. Avdotya was disgusted with the idea, desiring nothing more than to free herself from the coppery scent of the blood-spattered house and walk outside.

No, that was a lie. She craved far more than that. She wanted to leave her family's wishes far behind. She wanted the cogs of her eighteenth birthday to grind to an abrupt halt. She wanted to create her own future and not spend it with a rich snob like Myron Perrot. Most importantly, she wanted answers as to why Wolfe did what he did or whether he actually performed them.

So many desires lay cramped within her head, threatening to scatter her brains on the four corners of her room, and fear of rejection kept every one of them fastened inside. From what she saw, two very different roads forked in opposing directions. The first, the path of the Blindly Trusting, led to a life completely prepared since birth where nothing would go her way; the second, the path of the Deviant, spindled off into the distance, yet at the very end she knew there was some happiness awaiting her.

The decision was crucial. Once started upon either road, there was assuredly no going back. If she chose the first path, she would be ingrained too deeply to depart, and, should she choose the second, her family would never accept her again.

She shook her head, wiping tears away with an already damp sleeve, and pried her gaze away from her lap and toward the open window. Sol still had not hitherto dared to prop his fiery head over the horizon, nor did his wife Mani reveal her bleach-white face.

" 'For I am at the cusp of a sword,' " Av muttered lightly, " 'demanded a response to uneven terms. My honour lies on my tongue or my sword arm, lost or gained through voice or action.' "

She did not know how the quote came to mind, spoken from the mouth of the Righteous Thief Lunpa fifty years ago, but it granted her a little solace to know she was not alone with such thoughts.

"There's still time to decide," she reminded herself. "Three days is more than enough time to make up my mind, and if —"

Her train of thought screeched to a halt, and her face shriveled into that of anguish. Pain lanced through the right side of her head like a scalding poker before withdrawing like an observed assassin, leaving before she was able to press a hand to her head.

She groaned, the same hand dropping to her left side to check her pulse. The beating heart within pumped at a lively pace, surging adrenaline through her system to protect her, but it was evident that it could not.

"Nightmares and headaches in the same day . . ." she groaned as she stepped out of bed to start her morning toilette. "Should this continue, I'll lose my sanity in a few short months."

* * *

"Are you all right, pet?"

Avdotya looked up from the plate in front of her, her stare broken into blinking intervals. Her mother stood at the opposite end of the four-chair breakfast table, powdered and beautiful even at eight in the morning. The girl tried to smile, but the worry in her parent's face suppressed the action.

"I'm fine, Mum," she quietly replied, wringing her wrist under the table as she focused downwards again. An untouched pair of blueberry griddlecakes lay stacked in the plate's centre, and a tinted glass filled halfway with milk rested further into the table.

"Oh, please, don't give me that," Irina persisted, setting her plate on the table. "You are as pale as a sheet, and you always butter your pancakes before sitting."

The whispers of fluttering silk signaled the mother's approach, as did the hand that rubbed the Avdotya's inner shoulder. Contrary to their purpose, the gentle touches only agitated her.

"Say, hon, you should let the Great Healer look you over later today. I'm sure he would not mind, especially if I offer to pay for it on top of your father's medical bills."

"Mother, I said I'm fine," Av responded in a low tone, brushing the hand off her person.

"That's a lie, and we both know it," Irina voiced with a pinch of sadness. "You've been quiet ever since your father got injured, and don't think for an instant I haven't noticed it. You hardly leave your room. You don't talk to either of us. Whatever is on your mind?"

"Nothing," she whispered, tearing her gaze from the table and focusing further away from the table.

"Hon, again, don't give m—"

"Just drop it, okay?"

Her mother sighed in defeat and returned to her breakfast, pouring syrup all over it. Av dared to shoot a glance up at her and wished that she had not done so; the expression on Irina's face did not help her conscience one iota. Instead, she stared down at her unbuttered breakfast.

"So," Irina spoke later on, her small mound of pancakes nearly finished, "have you given any more thought on your coming of age?"

"I'm sorry, what was that?" queried Avvie, wading through her thoughts back to reality.

"Have you given any more thought on your birthday?" repeated her mother calmly.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Why, what I meant was have you picked out a husband, of course! I'm dying to know who you've chosen. Was it the lovely Hyro young man with his lovely blue eyes? Was it the Perrot lad from earlier? I hope you apologised to him for turning him away."

"I . . . have not chosen," Av responded, a blush sparking to life when she turned away.

"Oh, that's okay. There is still time to choose which one is suitable," Irina continued with an audible smile. "And you know all of your lines and the people that are going to be there?"

"I've been reciting for weeks now, Mum, so I think so."

"Hm, that's what your adopted brother said, and. . . ."

Irina caught her tongue too late, her daughter's face twisting into a frown at the mention of Wolfe. She changed the subject.

"Think about what it would be like when you are married, hon, about what a great experience it will be for you, one full of new and fantastic things. There will be no more school unless you will it, you can play instruments beyond that of the piano, and someday you will have children to call your own. You will be so happy under the wing of someone other than myself and your father. I will be happy as well. I can't wait to have my own grandchildren."

"Mother, please . . ." the girl groaned, crimsoning deeper. "I don't want to think about it. Don't make me think about it."

"But really, my duckling, it would be wonderful for you! When you were younger you thought babies were cute and wanted one of your own. Soon, that day will come, and you'll—"

Avdotya slammed both her hands down on the table's edge and rose from her seat, causing Irina to yelp in startlement.

"Aren't you even listening to me? I don't want to talk about such things!"

She stormed off without awaiting a response, and when her mother's pleas to come back reached her ears Av was already heading up the stairwell. She retired to her chamber with a flick of the bedroom door, and the only thing left she could hear was her own rampant breathing.

It took her minutes of lying facedown on the bedspread to recognise her puerility. Initially she blamed the nightmares and lack of sleep, and later she shifted the responsibility to the headaches, but neither fit in terms of her irritability. She was loath to admit it, but perhaps her father was right; her kid brother's influence may have left them both acting like children.

With a roll onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling, wondering if Wolfe was safe. Four days was a long time to remain hidden, and she hoped for both their sakes that he managed to get off the island. It would not have been an easy feat; elsewhere in the world, boats had been seized in times of duress or risk, and if Palmaria did the same he was forced to stay on the archipelago, hampered unless he dared to brave the strong eddies surrounding the isles via an oceanic swim to the mainland.

She issued forth to the window a second time, desirous for fresh air. The morning air, still chilly as though the sun had not risen from the horizon, smelled faintly of an ocean-swept breeze, but that was not the chief thing which met her senses.

Pacing along the poorly maintained path leading to the smithy which branched off from the main road, Avdotya spotted a blue-garbed monk with his traditional cowl drawn overhead, the face so deep within the hood she could not see any distinguishable features inside its shade. She thought little of it at first, as even the most well-practiced blacksmith required healing now and again, but as her eyes followed she noticed the man glance up toward her.

Surprise drove her behind a curtain. For what reason would a monk look up at her manor window? Did he see her? She shook her head, wondering if she was taking this too seriously, but when she dared another look the hooded figure had stopped dead in the road and focused toward her.

Her heart skipped two beats as thoughts tore through her mind speedily. Her mind claimed this was no accident and that an odious someone was stalking her, yet her soul informed her that this was Wolfe, seeking whether she was fine or not.

She did not know how long the two contested, but when the figure continued walking the quarrel ceased. The hooded man was out of sight within the minute, quickening his pace similar to entering the final leg of a race, and Avvie's gaze followed him all the while.

"No good," she muttered to herself, starting to pace. "I can't tell who it is."

She threw up her hands in frustration and leaned on the dresser, her lips pursed in thought and her head hanging low.

"Maybe I'm overthinking things and my mind is unhinging. Maybe it is a simple Healer, and I'm only imagining him as someone else . . . but it doesn't make any sense. He paused when a Healer would continue, looked back when a Healer would keep focused, and sped up when a Healer would remain calm! If only I could get closer, then—"

A distant rap cut short her soliloquy, the merciless string of knocks assuring that Emery had just arrived to perform her daily tasks.

Avdotya waited and listened, hearing the chain locks unlink and the squeaky door be pried open and shut, but nary a word transacted between her mother and the housemaid. She took notice a long time ago, and still had not found an answer to this silent understanding between them. Neither showed much interest in the other, and neither revealed any ill will pitted. It was a strange impasse between acknowledgement and neglect, one that Av wished she would never achieve in her life, even though a forced marriage threatened to accomplish such.

She sighed. Her thoughts were scattered all over, untethered like a horse, and she needed a rein to control them. Options were limited to the room for the moment, but surely she could find something to focus on.

* * *

Seconds passed off as hours in the dark, and hours for years. Without the ticking of a clock or the refreshing cycle between day and night, Nem could only count her breaths to gain some sense of time, but even that was short-lived when one stumbles on numbers and words. Memories came back in clumps, some unnecessary and others purposeful.

At times she wished the memories would come back in one colossal surge instead of slowly feeding itself to her, but the fear of the results kept her in check. Would her head explode? Would it churn like her stomach when she ate fast? She truly did not want to find out.

She placed a hand on her receded stomach. Thoughts of food plagued her, and she could not remember when food was last given to her. During her stay she had been fed five times, but while that was enough to sustain her she craved more.

The texture of cotton on her fingertips amused Nem. "Clothes," as the kindly doctor called them, were uncomfortable and itchy, but they fended off the cold so well even her toes and fingers were warm. Time passed easier when spent putting them on, however difficult it was in infinite darkness. Sometimes she put her head or hand or foot in the wrong hole, and it took innumerable attempts to find a comfortable way to wear them. Pantaloons on her arms, a sweater covering her legs, undergarments acting as "overgarments" or flimsy hats, stockings on her hands—she tried it all until she deemed it appropriate, and even then it was not right.

Footsteps echoed from the hollow wall, causing her to leap from her sleeping corner, duck behind the table she first woke up on, and peer over the top. The wall swung open and the lights above her blinded her, but a contented churr escaped her lips when she recognised the doctor.

"Hey, angel," he responded with a suppressed laugh. "Still hiding behind there, are you?"

"Yes," Nem spoke succinctly, plunging her head behind the slab.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot play with you today. Too much work, you see, but I have something that might cheer you up."

Nem popped her head up above the slab, eyes beholding an ellipsoidal pewter tray. Atop the plate in the centre sat a helping of rare stringy meat, a dallop of mashed yam, and a wafer of black bread that appeared coarse and slightly aged; it was a scanty meal through-and-through, but her stomach, denied sustenance for a fair amount of time, demanded that she should rise to her feet.

"I managed to sneak some meat and preserves from the kitchen. They'll build your muscles and stamina up a little," he explained as he stepped to the stone wedge and placed the tray in front of her as if it were a table.

She gazed on each contender on the plate solicitously, wondering which to eat first. Sure enough, there was a small portion of red jelly, previously hidden behind the meat.

"Thank you . . ." she stuttered, reaching down and scooping jelly onto her fingertips.

"Please don't thank me, Nem. Never again."

Her hand halted a short distance away from her outstretched tongue when she looked toward the doctor.

"But you said—"

"I know what I said," he curtly replied. "I said earlier you shouldn't thank me just yet, but what I intended was different. Say nothing more on this."

The rigidity of the command coupled with disappointment froze Nem in place but for a moment before she placed her fingers in her mouth. The taste of berries exploded along her tongue, a flavour far more delicious than anything she had in her previous meals, and her hand rose and fell until not a mote of preserves remained.

"I see you like your sweets," the man commented in amusement, twirling his thin black mustache between his fingers.

"Mm! It tastes . . . sweet!"

"Yes, sweets tend to do that," he replied, laughing a note. "They are rare in these parts, as they are generally made in Vale, southern Indra, and the Apojii islands where briars and sugar cane are grown. I was surprised we had any in the storeroom."

Nem stared in silence, curious of his words but not understanding more than a lick of them.

"I keep forgetting you don't remember much from the outside world. It's a beautiful place, one that you will see with your own eyes soon enough."

"I can leave this prison?" she questioned, her eyes dropping while she handled the piece of meat from the plate. It was tough to chew and had a gamey taste she did not enjoy, but she managed to swallow all the same.

"Yes, you are able to leave, but this is not a prison. It is more of a protective ward and research facility for people with secret talents. You, my dear, are one of the latest."

"M-me . . . ?" Nem's eyes bulged in childish naïveté as she stared down at her dust-covered hands, hoping to see the talent for her own eyes, but when she saw nothing of value she glowered and sighed.

"From our research," he replied, his voice oscillating, "you either had one earlier or will have one. If we bring it to the surface, we can prove how great you truly can be. Your worth to our clientele can be limitless, but the process could take weeks, months, or even years at a time, but I am certain you have the ability to accomplish this."

She smiled up toward the doctor, not understanding some of the words but enjoying the thought of having something to call her own. Eagerness took the place of dejection, and she gleefully responded, "I want to be great!"

The dark-haired scientist chuckled, his eyes shining with light enjoyment. Nem wondered why she never saw a smile pass over his lips. She could not guess the reason, if there even was one, but her curiosity abated before blossoming into enquiry.

"Of course you will, and I will help all that I can, which brings me to the other thing I meant to speak to you about."

His hands attracted Nem's attention as they disappeared behind his back. She gave him a look of confusion when he struggled with something, but a short moment later an odd, boxlike object emerged from behind the coattails and was subsequently placed on the table. She stared at it with curiosity, fearful to reach out and touch the surface lest she break it. It wrinkled thing seemed so fragile, and the flecks of gold ingrained into its hide appeared to be one tug away from removal.

"What is it?" she asked, gaze refocusing toward the doctor.

"It is a book, Nem," he explained. "It tells stories and shows things which benefits how one lives one's life. Go ahead and take it up."

The girl did exactly so and gripped the spine, almost dropping the book when the opposite end lolled. Her eyes went as wide as a spooked owl's as she stared at it from the length of her arm, much to the man's amusement.

"Don't worry. The book is as alive as the stone around you, and you don't see that breathing, do you?" She nodded her head negatively, but her outstretched arm did not relax nor did her wide-eyed gaze falter. He did not seem to care, though. "Good. Now would you be a doll and open the cover?"

Nem gulped and pursed her lips, lifting a hand timidly toward the book as if it were expected it to awaken and gnash a hundred teeth in her face. When nothing happened, she pulled the closest "jaw" open, peered within, and was both relieved and bemused to see only flat whiteness and something else she could not make out. She deemed them as silly black marks at first, but they were too ornate and repetitive to be just that, and thus her eyes sought out the doctor.

"You may not recall at the moment, if even at all, but most kids your age can read this from cover to cover. Can you read it?"

"Read?" she asked confusedly, eyes never leaving his.

"So that was incapacitated as well, as I expected. I'll help teach you this until your mind catches up. It's such a pity that it is so malleable, but the answer lies beyond our grasp at the moment."

"There are more like me?" she inquired, the words almost muted by shock.

"No, child; precious few are like you."

His mouth fluxed as if to continue, but he failed to do so. She was still curious, however, and she spurred on the question.

"Why not?"

He hesitated and licked his lips, responding: "Some did not make it. Others were injured during the process, their minds turning to rock or jelly, either unresponsive or uncontrollable. You and five others were special because of unique traits, alterations both natural and artificial."

"Al- . . . terations?" Nem queried with eyes full of fear.

"I'm sorry. I have said too much and made you worry. What I intended to say is that you are special, both in reality and to me. I do not want to confuse you any further, so eat the rest of your meal, dear child. You will need it for the trials tonight."

* * *

When the Great Healer knocked on the door and asked if he could come in, Avdotya could not have been crosser. She set the book she was reading on the windowsill, trotted to the other side of the room, and pulled the door open without so much as a greeting.

He stepped in with passive contentment, scanning the room with an long, unblinking glance before focusing back on the young woman. She stared back too, soaking in his appearance. He wore a grey and undecorated traveller's cloak which hardly befit the opulent robes that were traditional of a man of his stature, yet the silver mitre still sported the top of his head. Bushy and long grey eyebrows matched his bushy and long grey hair, and more wrinkles than she could tally sprawled over his face.

Had she been in a better mood, Avvie may have felt some embarrassment about the pigpen that was her bedroom. Used clothes heaped in stacks both towering and over her floor and bed, and a number of articles were placed anywhere that had a surface. The entire space reeked of something acrid, but it was just as homey to its occupant as coffee was to her parents.

The sage did not seem to mind as much, casting a wise old smile that simultaneously scared and comforted her. It was as if the dismissal and the embrace of life could be felt in the curls of his mouth, the shifts of his eyes, and perhaps his entire being. Silly notions, all of them, she thought. The man in front of her was a medical cleric of the highest order, after all.

"Your mother wanted me to check in on you. Are you all right?" he mumbled, raising his mitre-laden brows to look into her eyes.

"She did, did she?" Avdotya uttered with a biting tongue. Her gaze slowly shifted away, but even still she noticed the methodical bob of his head.

"Indeed. She was very worried about you."

"Her worry is unnecessary, as I am perfectly fine," she responded.

"A mother's worry can be fooled, but old bones ring true when faced with lies. If you tell me what is bothering you, I may be able to help before things worsen."

Avvie's eyes darted up toward the man before she revolved, paced toward the windowed wall, and leaned her back against it.

"If you promise me not to say a word to my mother, maybe I will tell you."

"I promise," the Healer repeated with solemnity, "not to mention a word to your mother about this discussion."

"Then close the door, please."

He acknowledged the command with a slow twist towards the door and followed it short with an iron grip on the knob which lasted until the hidden latch clicked. Av smiled at the action's similarity to a handshake, but that was all it was, she assured herself—a similarity. Once he turned about again, she cleared her throat and hoped the words would come out correctly.

"I have . . . headaches. Not normal ones, you understand, which simply pain the head and ache in the back of the skull. Mine feel like . . . like a solid flame burning its way into my brain or the claws of some monster raking my head open."

He nodded with an irritating phlegmatic manner, but he replied warmly, "Perhaps it is something related to stress. You and your family have been undergoing much of it as of late."

"Oh, no, not at all. This has been happening ever since I was a child."

"A child!" he exclaimed, assuring that she grabbed his full attention.

"That's right. Anyway, when I was young, they had happened once every two years or so, always the same burning pain. My parents waved it off, probably expecting it to be a childish game to get their attention, but I knew better. I knew it was real, but always kept it to myself. Lately, though . . . they have been getting progressively worse. Years shifted to a year, then four months, and now there have been three."

"Three of what, my dear?" the sage uttered in confusion.

"Three headaches this month, each one, as I mentioned, happening sooner than its predecessor. The last one occurred this morning."

"And how long are these headaches?"

"Sometimes a few seconds, but never over half a minute."

The cleric knit his brows and closed his steely eyes in thought.

"Because you are a daughter of a noble house," he spoke after a moment's silence, "I must be frank with you by saying I have never heard of such an incidence. Forty and eight years have I practiced my art, half spent researching sicknesses and abnormalities in the western continents, and no known headache is as chronic and progressive as you say."

"So . . . what you are saying is that you don't know what this is, or how to cure it?"

"I know a little, but I don't know how to cure it."

Avdotya sagged against the wall, her heart weighing her down as it plunged into her gut. Though she did not expect an immediate cure, she had hoped that he would know ways to prevent the headaches from getting worse, and now that hope was dashed on the rocks.

"I will not give you false promises, but I will do my best to help," the wizened elder continued comfortingly. "These headaches you are feeling may cure themselves over time. The worst I have studied are rare and tend to last a significantly longer period of time than this, so instead of considering yourself unlucky, consider yourself blessed."

The girl put a nod and a smile into effort, to which the man smiled back in a sage manner.

"If you do not mind, I will be finishing my daily healing administrations on your father. I beg your leave."

"Of course, of course," she responded before her eyes lit up. "Oh, I just remembered something."

"Yes, child, what is it?" the Great Healer queried, already with his hand on the doorknob but turning around toward her again.

"Is the blacksmith injured? I thought I saw one of your healers pass down the road from his direction."

"Hmm? Tarjus? I have seen him only yesterday in town, and he is as healthy as the horses he shoes."

"Ah, I must have been mistaken, then. I am sorry for stopping you."

He smiled, saying: "Get some sleep, dear. I fear all the stress with your father and your approaching adulthood is getting to your head."

With that he exited the room, leaving Avdotya beside the wall with an inset frown.

"So it is true. The monk I saw was not a monk after all," she muttered under her breath, stealing a glance toward her window. "If that is so . . . Brother . . . could that really have been you out there?"


	9. Chapter 9: Removing the Cowl

**_Ravaged Bonds Chapter 9: Removing the Cowl_**

_"The most ironic truth of all is that true serenity comes late to the peaceful and early to those who crave war."_

_—Ye Tsang of Xi'an, Village Elder_

Upon the morning bell, Avdotya arose as if the past week had never happened. No unsettling dreams haunted her sleep, and no clawing headaches pained her during the night. It was as if knowing of Wolfe's safety was enough to stave off her inner demons in the hours of darkness.

She stared out of her window during her morning toilette for a long while, hoping to find the monk outside it, but nothing except the wind-tossed dust occupied the pathways. Mildly disheartened she finished washing, switched her nightclothes for one of her favoured red dresses, and sauntered out the bedroom door.

The smell of freshly baked almonds and strawberries struck Av in a wave of air as she closed the door, inviting her to step down the staircase to peek at Emery's progress. Like cordiality, cooking never became one of the maidservant's best attributes over the years, yet she had enough genius moments to have complete freedom in the kitchen. However, it was not Emery who was cooking. It was her mother.

Irina whisked a bowlful of batter in the kitchen, but everything about her was strange. Stiff movements, disheveled hair, puffy eyelids—she appeared more like a bent tree on the verge of collapse rather than a human being, and that was surprising for someone who slept as heavily as she did and dutifully prettied herself every morning. Av took a sharp breath to calm the worry in her throat, rounded the corner completely, and walked into the room.

"Hey, Mom," she said and, after waiting for a response, she continued. "Didn't sleep well last night, I take it?"

Her mother glanced in her direction before whisking anew.

"Yes, you could say that."

"Then can I do anything to help? You look like you could use a moment or two to lie down."

"I can handle it," Irina curtly responded, leaving the batter on the counter to rush to the other end of the kitchen.

Avvie sighed and braced herself against the doorframe, watching her mother ignore her even after she checked the brick oven. Sometimes she glanced over to the nearby counter, eying the array of mixing bowls, wooden spoons, and other items which littered its surface, and while some were used a number were still clean and waiting to be put away, collectively another sign that something was off.

"Is something bothering you?" she queried, unable to stand the noiseless moment any longer. "You're acting a little different today."

"And you're acting the same as always," Irina spat back as she returned to the batter and continued stirring.

If Avdotya were a dog, her neck would have bristled in irritation.

"Listen, if you are still angry at me about yesterday, then go ahead and say it. I can take whatever you can throw, Mother."

The mixing bowl was slammed onto the counter, dashing its contents along its sides and over the lip, and an icy stare was launched in her direction. Avdotya pursed her lips. Like most moments in her life, she wished she clamped her mouth shut instead of speaking her mind.

"Did I hear you correctly?" Irina asked with an ugly glower. "What else has that murderous lout taught you besides those words?"

"My brother taught me well enough, thank you very much!" Av returned, leaning against the jamb of the door.

"How infuriating! He killed that redheaded girl and assaulted your father. That waste of life left him dying on the floor, yet you still consider him a brother and brood over him in your room! I cannot and will not accept this. I won't allow you to care for a savage like him over your real family!"

"He is no less family to me than you are! Even if we are not connected by birth, and even if he did either of those things, he will always be my little brother, and I will care for him because you and everyone else won't!"

Surprise and rage locked Irina's face into a heavy frown, but no words exploded from her mouth because her gaze expressed them distinctively: "Get out of here, if you know what's good for you!" She gladly did.

Avdotya walked out without another word, snagging a heavy cloak from a coat hanger as she approached the heavy doors at the entrance and pulling it on. Defying the lockdown, she slipped into her walking boots, unlocked the doors, and departed with a heavy slam that echoed through the lobby.

* * *

The dress clung to her damp skin as she reclined against the grove's eldest apple tree, the thick wool of her cloak and the silk of her dress easily yielding to a thicker blanket of yesternight's rain. The cold made her shiver until Sol raised his scepter above the world, warming it with his benevolent rays. The wet sensation lingered still, but it allowed memories of the events that had taken place there to flow with ease as if they happened a day ago, not five.

She evoked the conversation beneath the wizened maple many times, feeling that, if she did not, she may lose her sanity and believe Wolfe truly committed the crimes of which he stood convicted. She remembered the tone of his voice, the honesty in his gaze, and the secrets he had revealed to her and her alone, and each time she was newly assured of his innocence.

Amid her thoughts, she scanned the roads in search of him. The more she pondered about the monk from yesterday, the more she was certain it was Wolfe hidden behind the cowl. Who else would glance up toward her bedroom window? Who else would walk with timorous pace, fearful of being discovered? There was no other viable conclusion, she thought to herself. It had to be Wolfe, and she was going to wait in that very spot until he came.

Time only mildly eroded her patience as she spied upon the roads, contrary to her active nature. Ox-drawn logging carts rolled past, carrying with it the aromas of pine and spruce wood, and Palmarian Knights patrolled the main road. Brawny Tarjus and his apprentice also trotted past, the elderly man whistling a merry tune while little Jacoby happily followed with a crate of metal supplies in his arms.

Not even two hours had passed before she was startled from her thoughts by the slaps of sandals against the road. She turned toward the road leading to town and distinguished the familiar habit of a Healer fluttering in a passing breeze. Her heart leapt within her throat. Now was her chance.

Av waited for him to swerve onto the less beaten path before she attempted to intercept. The monk did not appear to notice her approach, the cowl drawn too low to catch his eyes, but once she made a misstep he froze in surprise.

"Wolfe, hold; it's me," she spoke, her words hasty with excitement. The gaunt chin jutting out from the cowl's reach was unbearded, and the moment of hesitation further exposed him as an imposter and her brother. Even the height was the same and strengthened her conviction

Avvie could sense the tension in the air as her brother remained immobile other than a lift of his head. Why did he not welcome her with a smile and open arms? Was he worried that someone else was watching him?

"Relax, Wolfe," she again tried to coax. "Nobody else is around. I made sure of that as I waited here for you."

"Sorry, Miss Rind, but I'm not Wolfe."

Each word carried with it the candid vocal patterns of an experienced sailor, and the man's jaw moved with a rigidity that struck her as unfamiliar. Horrorstruck, she stepped back a pace and brought her right hand between them, her left reaching for a blade hilt that was not there.

The imposter laughed without interest and followed with a step of his own, a blocky physique momentarily showing through the brightly coloured robes, but he did not make a motion for a concealed weapon either. Av recognised this as an ambiguous sign, one which could potentially lead to her death.

"Who sent you? You have the build of an assassin! Were you purposed to lure me out and kill me?!" she spat quickly, hoping that it would buy her enough time to flee for the house.

"Assassin?" the man inquired without inflection, his hooded head locked in place as if the word held little meaning. "Aren't we high and mighty to think we're worthy of assassination. I'm here about Wolfe, not killing you. Pheh, honestly."

There was something familiar about the way he spoke and the shifting smile on his lips, but no matter how long she stared at the man it was impossible to distinguish his face. She switched tactics.

"If you really aren't an assassin, let me see your face. How can I trust someone who is afraid to show his face?"

He chuckled lightly, something else she found familiar, and said, "You honestly don't recognise me? Fine. I'll humour you."

The cowl was withdrawn, revealing a tanned face decked with bleached blond hair so long and spiked that she wondered how he managed to pull on the hood in the first place. Laugh lines streaked across the lower half of the man's face, yet deep within his blue eyes was a calculating menace of which she had been wary for a long time and recognised immediately.

"You . . . you're the ferryman!" she asked incredulously, her voice dropped to a low whisper.

"The one and only," he answered with a redoubled smile. "Well, around these here parts, that is. Now will you listen to what I have to say?"

Avdotya slowly nodded, restraining the urge to diligently interrogate the ferryman. He nodded back, swept his eyes about to ensure they were still alone, and continued.

"What I now say are for your ears and nobody else's. Hours after the first Beacon, Wolfe banged on my door. He looked exhausted as if he ran from your family's lovely estate over there"—he made a gesture to the manor—"but he did not allow himself to stay very long. Before he slipped out he told me many things, one of them being a request."

The ferryman's hand fumbled around within his monk habit, pulled out what appeared to be a crumbled ball of paper, and held it out at an arm's length.

"This here," he said, "is a letter I promised to keep between you two. Wolfe told me to discreetly toss this into the lone window facing this path—your window, I reckon—but I don't think he'd care how I give it to you now."

Avvie licked her lips and approached, grabbing the wad cautiously before peeling back the paper. Several sheets of paper were wrapped around a rounded roc, and once she withdrew the final sheet she read its contents without hesitation:

_"Sis,_

_"You must think lowly of me. Your father was harmed by my hand, and nothing I can say would turn back the clock to correct this mess. However, please believe me when I say this happened out of self-defence, not rage. I never meant to hurt him, and I hope he's mending well for both our sakes._

_"I have so many regrets about the suffering I caused you. Brothers are supposed to look after their sisters, and I gave you more harm and worry than anything I can think of. I'm sorry. Sorry for everything._

_"By the time you read this, I will be safe on Angara, hoping that I can someday keep that promise to you._

_"Live for the both of us, Sis, and marry someone who can make you happy._

_"I know I've never said this before, and I hope it doesn't sound gushy, but I love you._

_—Wolfe"_

She found herself crying in the end, tears staining the crinkled brown paper before she pressed the letter to her heart. The ferryman offered a handkerchief and was readily accepted.

"I don't know what was said, but you two must have been very close," the man commented with a smile. "If only I shared such a relationship with my brothers." The expression did not last long, she realised, before he replaced the hood over his features and looked about a second time. "I should go before I'm suspected, but a chat with you would be most welcome if you've the time."

Managing a nod, she dried the final tears from her eyes, handed back the cloth, and replied as soon as she found her voice, "Trust me . . . I have nothing but time at the moment."

The ferryman smiled kindly toward her and nodded toward town.

"I know just the place where we can talk freely. Follow me, Miss Rind, and quickly if you please. My boat must be ready to sail in two hours, and I have a feeling that every wasted minute would hurt us later."

* * *

"Well, here it is," spoke the ferryman upon reaching his hut and opening the door, a whimsical grin revealed from underneath his hood. "Pardon the mess, but rest assured there's no better place to talk."

"Apparently," she commented, smiling as well. "You really value your privacy, don't you?"

"Yes, and for good reason. Imagine navigating with forty or fifty people babbling behind you. While I enjoy conversation, I need to get away from people between voyages, but sometimes I like to strike a conversation of my own."

"I . . . never thought of it like that before," Avvie admitted.

"Not many do. Now, are you going to stand outside all day or come in like a civilised islander?"

She almost jumped at the gruff tone of his voice, but the grin remained and ensured he was joking. Disgruntled, she walked in and allowed him to close the door behind them.

Her eyes adjusting to the darkness within the room, Av caught the faintest outlines of chairs, barrels, and the polished surface of a small table located around the room, all poorly lit by windows facing the east and west. She groped her way to the closest object she could find and braced herself against the back of a chair.

"As my honoured guest," the man spoke as he brushed past, "I would allow you the right to choose whether to eat or talk first. I have some clam stew in the icebox and a tubful of hardtacks, but precious little else is readily available. Oh, I also have some salted sardines, if you'd like, but only three."

"Can you light the room first before we talk about eating?" she suggested, particularly annoyed by the dimness.

"Absolutely," was his reply, and a matchstick was swiftly struck against an unoccupied chair.

Light poured across the room like a diffused flood, brightened with every candle the man set aflame. The room was quaint in size, smaller than she had anticipated from the outside, but the massive amount of furniture in the room could have been the reason. Stools, barrels, and chairs littered the room, but not nearly as much as the leaflets scattered across the floor and the table in the centre of the room.

"I see I left the window open," the man sighed, snatching a few pages from the floor. He waved the rest off, huffed another sigh, and brushed back his cowl. "On second thought, that is something to do later. Just brush the table off and watch your step. Now, can I get you something to eat?"

"If you don't mind, I'd rather talk about my brother."

"Ah yes, you were anxious to see him, weren't you?" The ferryman sat across the table and folded his hands on the edge. "So eager that you snuck out of your house to talk to him, is that it?"

Av huffed as she revolved the chair she stood behind and sat.

"I did not _sneak_ out of my house, but I am very eager to see him again."

"Even if he were a scoundrel and a murderer?"

"Even so!" she spat instinctively, her brow heavily furrowed. "Listen, did you invite me to a conversation just to probe and insult my brother with these . . . these questions?! And here I thought you and Wolfe were on good terms!"

"And why would you think anything like that?" he inquired with a mischievous smile, brushing a spiked mass of hair from his eyes. "They were harmless questions, nothing more."

"Harmless indeed! Wolfe is innocent! You must believe so too if you aided him."

"Must I?" the ferryman replied with that same smile.

She opened her mouth to shout anew, but he gestured for her to keep quiet. She just barely complied, and her hands balled into fists underneath the tabletop.

"It seems I was right about you two," he continued. "You and Wolfe are truly like family, and, like myself, never would you believe that he would kill that lovely red-pated girl."

Briefly did a worm of guilt gnaw on the inside of her stomach. Previously, she was unsure if she truly never believed he was Isha's murderer, especially when she thought back to that moment where she feared that Wolfe would kill himself. She nodded regardless, hiding whatever uncertainty behind a mask of stone.

"If you wanted to know that, you had your work cut out for you from the start."

"True, but it's fun messing with people," the man retorted without a gram of compunction. "I feel I can truly trust you with this information now, but I must have your solemn pledge you will safeguard it from everyone."

"I promise," she answered without hesitation.

"Very good! So where shall I start? Ah yes. My history with Wolfe goes back thirty or so years when I first shepherded the Timbres across the sea. Back then, the Isles did not have those breathless babblers they politely call tourists nowadays, and every mark which stepped on my boat was engraved into my memory. His parents—a young couple, divines bless them—were the kind of people who travelled overseas often, and over time we became friends.

"We continued to be such over the years. They ventured off the isle less and less, but they visited my cottage five or six times a year. One of those times, I found out that Dawn was with child. She was ecstatic, as was her husband, and she had promised to visit more often with her young ones now that she had no further reason to step off Palmarian soil. They were settling down, staying here to care for their children.

"I watched Wolfe and his brother Caspian grow from babes into promising striplings. He was a cute kid, a reckless troublemaker when paired with his brother, but a cute kid all the same. Isha and his father brought out the best of him in those days, but . . . those days have long come to pass."

Avdotya listened in silence, almost unaware that she had to periodically breathe in a new cycle of air. Wolfe's past remained a mystery to her over the many years she knew him, and whenever she tried to bring the topic up around him he grew pensive and quiet. Now was the perfect opportunity to divulge what he had previously kept hidden, and yet she wondered if she should.

"What were his parents like around him? I never had the chance to meet them," she asked, perhaps too abruptly.

"Devoted and doubly cautious," he replied, his mouth slowly turning into a smile again. "While Colin was always the busybody and hardly visited me once he had settled into Palmarian matters, he came home every day to take care of Wolfe and Caspian. Dawn was probably too doting for her wellbeing. She followed them nonstop and constantly fretted for their safety, especially Wolfe's. It made our talks difficult because she always had her head turned until Wolfe started playing with his little girlfriend."

"G-girlfriend?" Av asked again, her jaw dropped and leaving her visibly shocked.

The man laughed and answered, "That's what his mother called her: Wolfe's little girlfriend. I found it fitting, true or not, and all I knew about the two was either heard through my conversations with Dawn or seen from my ferry." He sighed and relapsed into a frown, eyes focused elsewhere than the girl to which he was speaking. "Those were the good old days. Now I've nothing left to look forward to, and while little joys spring out of the ground they never last. Sometimes I wish I could turn back the clock, change one thing in the past to remedy everything I keep thinking about, but that is just a stillborn dream of a man old enough to be a grandfather."

It took effort for Avvie to speak, her trachea seizing itself in apprehension.

"Are you talking about the windstorm . . . ?"

"I am indeed. You know the story from Wolfe, I am certain. The entire house collapsed under a freak storm, and it took hours for us to find him and pry him free from the rubble. He was lucky to be alive, but the Dawn, Colin, and little Caspian . . . they weren't. I can't imagine what life was like for him. I lost two friends in one blow, but he lost his family."

Av hung her head low, knowing that she too could not fully comprehend what Wolfe felt. To have the world stripped from her feet is an experience she did not yet and hoped she never would discover.

"Let's switch topics," the man offered. "I'm sure that you wanted to know more about Wolfe's present condition rather than his past."

She nodded dourly and forced a small smile.

"That is true, thank you. I know that Wolfe managed to escape offshore because of the letter, but he didn't mention anything else. What was he like when he visited you five nights back? Please don't leave out a single detail, as I, well . . . I'm extremely worried for him."

"That makes two of us," he said with a frown. "I told you before that your adopted brother was fearful when he visited my doorstep, always looking over his shoulder as if he were hounded by a werebeast, but that wasn't the first thing I noticed about him. He was exhausted, blood dripping from the side of his mouth, no doubt due to his crushed chest and battered back.

"I pulled him in without thinking—who could do anything else at the time?—and told him to lie down on my yonder bed as I wrapped bandages around his injuries. He thanked me, but he refused to have me fetch a Healer for his wounds, saying that he was fine. Miss Rind, none of his wounds were 'fine.' I would have considered them mortal had he not lived long enough to make it to my door. I do not know how to explain it."

Silence ensued. The ferryman opened his mouth to speak a couple times, but promptly closed it as if he wanted to continue but could not.

"What is it?" Avvie spoke, on edge.

"Have you ever experienced something completely unorthodox? A two-headed dog, perhaps, or a child who could list numbers endlessly that hold meaning only to men of science?"

"You mean . . . anomalies without explanation?" she queried, lifting her eyes to the ceiling as she thought back. "I have seen a few of them, but nothing as odd as those two."

"Well, it was like that for me, and I think I've seen the strangest of all. I believe your brother to be an Adept."

Av tensed uncontrollably and glanced at the man in confusion. He gazed piercingly into her eyes, the latent feel of menace replaced by an inquisitiveness she did not appreciate.

"What makes you say such a thing?" she demanded. "Even if it is true, how would my brother be an anomaly? There are hundreds or thousands of Adepts out there, aren't there? What would make him so special?"

"Because his mother and father weren't Adepts at all, yet I saw him mouthing a chant in _their_ tongue when he thought I wasn't looking."

She stared wide-eyed, piercing his eyes this time and inspiring a nervous chuckle from the ferryman.

"Let me explain. Lineage is very important to Adepthood. While one can gain an powers through other means, he was never around a source. These sources are incredibly rare, phenomenally even, according to a scholarly friend of mine, and the nearest one lies in Vale. I have never ferried him outside of Palmaria, so the only logical explanation is if he were the son of an Adept, and yet this is not so."

"Why wouldn't it be . . . ?" Av questioned.

"Dawn never showed any sign of the gift, be it through the hue of her hair or her temperament. Colin had blond hair, a commonality between Wind and Earth Adepts, but he underwent a grueling sieving before he became a Knight and passed. You probably know from your father how rigorous they are about Adepts, worried that some new threat would try to attack the Isles from the inside, but he passed without failing a single test, or so he told me."

She sat in silence, pondering over everything she saw and heard. If what the ferryman said was true, Wolfe really was an anomaly, but there had to be some sense behind his odd legacy.

"Miss Rind," he continued, breaking her from her trance, "I'm not a fibber . . . well, much, but I know what I saw. He _was_ chanting. That is why I ask you to assure all my suspicions by answering one little question: was Wolfe one of these Adepts?"

Avdotya ascended and placed her back to the man, her head drooped toward the floor. Wolfe trusted the man enough to treat his wounds and keep him safe, but if he did not profess his ability openly neither was she.

"I don't know . . ." she lied. "I knew there were many strange things about him, but . . . this is all so far-fetched. First Isha came back and died in the next few days, then he went to your hut wounded to flee. And now you call him an Adept? It's so fantastic that it just can't be real."

The ferryman groaned along with his chair as he shifted.

"I believe I know what you mean. The world isn't making much sense to me anymore, and I cannot make heads or tails of a coin thrown into the air like this. Thank you for answering, though. Wolfe never gave me a reply, but he could merely find their tongue interesting like me. Let's move on, shall we, or are you feeling hungry? Come, let me fix us a hearty meal before we continue. I'm famished."

Before she could say yes or no, he rose from his seat, plucked a pair of bowls and a few hardtacks from a nearby barrel, and placed them on the table. She stared at the closest biscuit confusedly, wondering if she should take a nibble to sate her hunger, but the man stopped her before she could snare it.

"Hardtacks aren't for immediate eating unless you want every one of your teeth chipped," he warned, taking up his biscuit and hammering it against his plate. Not a crumb fell from its adamant surface. "These are so sturdy they need to be soaked in something hot before they are eaten. Luckily, I've just the thing, but it will take some time before it is warmed."

He slipped around her again and continued to collect whatever he thought food was, but Av did not even bother to watch. Instead, her eyes were glued onto the strange bread in front of her, and she pondered if Wolfe, his parents, or anyone else was unlucky enough to be invited to dine with him.

A brief chill swept through the air as an icebox swung open and closed, and the man stepped by a third time to place a pot over the fireplace. Within the minute, a fire was given life within the narrow brick walls, the dry wood and crumbled papers piled in the middle devoured by a lit match. He smiled in satisfaction and returned to his seat.

"Sorry to keep you, but rest assured that we shall only be interrupted now by a hot lunch. Is anything else on your mind?"

"Just one other thing," she replied. "Wolfe said in his letter that he was going to be safe in Angara. Did you ferry him anywhere specifically?"

"Not exactly," the man answered with his widespread grin and a chuckle. "It was too risky to bring him anywhere on something as public as my ferry, so I sent him asea in one of my private boats. He could be at any one of the three nearby seabound towns, though my best guess is that he wants to move further inland, far away from whatever monster it was that injured him, whether man or beast. You aren't thinking about sending him a letter, are you? If so, I know an investigative pair who could find anyone on the mainland for the right cost. All they need is the right amount of information like what he was wearing and how he looks."

"They sound like they are the best in the business to work with only that information, but I must decline. I do not have much money of my own, and I'm afraid to borrow money from my parents so close to my. . . ."

She paused, almost ashamed to mention her eighteenth birthday so quickly, but the man appeared to understand what she was about to say.

"Ah, I had forgotten about that!" the ferryman exclaimed. "You may not know it, but the entire town is abuzz over your coming-of-age. There aren't many young folk on the island, and the closest one of age besides you is that lanky idiot Jacoby. I don't know what Tarjus sees in the fellow. But, in any case, I understand. I want to send a letter to him someday, and I don't have the funds. Why else would I resort to hardtacks and stew?"

That brought a smile to her face as she looked down, but she rapidly regained her seriousness.

"It's been a while since I last looked upon a map. Which is the closest town on Angara again?"

He chuckled at her spontaneity and knew what she meant by her question, saying: "As the harpy flies, Puando, but Xi'an is the nearest along the route I advised him to follow. He is a stubborn oaf at times, that Wolfe, so incredibly stubborn, but he might have listened to me."

"Would you mind letting me borrow one of your remaining boats, then?"

He gave her a confused stare and commented afterward, "Normally I wouldn't, but remember your upcoming ceremony. You are going to be wed in a few days and the trip to anywhere along the Angaran Coast is a rounded trip of three days. You'd never make it back to your own wedding."

"Ah, right. How foolish of me. . . ."

She sighed dejectedly. Once again, she felt the noose of her family's blind obedience to tradition constricting around her neck, slowly asphyxiating her, and she rose from her seat as if to catch breath.

"I'm sorry," he spoke with a slow nod, "truly I am, but whatever travelling business you have in mind is best left until you are eighteen. Besides, a few days of waiting is nothing at all compared to the blessings of marriage, or so I hear. I've never married, so that's easy to say for me."

She smirked, partly because the change in topic calmed her down but mostly because she forced herself to do so.

"I suppose you are right, though I am still a little anxious about picking a husband. Some of them I don't know, and the others . . . the others—"

"You'll do fine. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders, and you certainly won't make a mistake on your wedding day. Now, please, sit. Your meal will be ready shortly."

Av felt her cheeks burn when she seated herself and was thankful he turned to stir the pot's contents. Her eyes were glued hungrily to the hardtack in front of her, sinking her gaze into its hard surface like the claws of a wildcat.

"I could tell you didn't have a breakfast this morning," the man stated as he looked back at her, grinning when she flinched. "That's the problem with young folk nowadays—always on the move and never eating as much as they should, especially you teenagers. Getting back to the topic at hand, we have one last thing to discuss, but if you feel uncomfortable about answering it you need only tell me."

She launched a stare in his direction before she bobbed her head in understanding, and he turned to stir the soup again.

"I was hoping that you might have some insight about how and why Wolfe came to me those many nights ago," he explained. "He was so strangely quiet and earnest to get off the island that I did not question him about his motives, but I feel that justice must still be served upon whatever did this to him, or maybe someone. Did you ever come across anyone bullying him?"

"Yes . . ." she spoke quietly and hesitantly, "but I quickly put a stop to it when I got the chance. Why do you ask?"

"Let's put that aside for later," he spoke with a wave of his hand. "Do you know who it was that bullied him?"

"Yes."

"And will you give me a name?"

Fear surged within her throat and threatened to deaden her voice, but she still managed a "no."

The man sighed lowly and kept stirring the broth, saying, "My apologies; I must have overstepped my bounds. I will respect your answer for the time being, but do not doubt that justice waits for no man, and that whoever left Wolfe so close to death will be brought low. I will see to it myself."

Av swallowed quietly and sat in silence, waves of thought crashing against her mind as if they were lapping the beach outside. There was always the chance that the ferryman was lying about Wolfe's injuries or was falsely accusing her father of causing them, she speculated inwardly, but what if he was entirely right? What if her father wounded Wolfe as much as he was? What if Wolfe was lying in his letter? Was her brother unable to tolerate Maurus's bullying and struck back?

Everything was possible, frighteningly so, even, but it was too much for her to bear. She needed truth. She needed answers. She stood, walked over to the door, and pulled it open with a wide arc.

"Huh? Wait, where are you going, Miss Rind? Don't you want your meal? Hey, stop, please!" he called out after her, but it was too late. She had fastened shut the door before he could finish and was running frienziedly back home.


End file.
